I am Esme Cullen
by bubbles907
Summary: What happened to Esme in her human years to lead her to Carlisle? I've followed Mrs. Meyer's outline as closely as possible. Ch. 2 is a little intense skip that if you want. And please review! Seriously, reviews are what makes a writer keep writing.
1. First Sight

_AN: So this is my first fanfic. Please review and constructive critisism is welcome. I want this to be good! I know there must be errors somewhere and I intend to correct them._

_I am NOT Stephenie Meyer. She is a goddess in the land of writers and I totally worship her work. Therefore, she owns everything and everyone related to the Twilight series. _

* * *

Chapter 1 Human

I fell off the branch from a dizzying height, tumbling through sharp twigs, screaming all the way, to land on the hard ground with a sickening crack. I nearly went into shock from the searing pain that spread from somewhere near my knee. With every beat of my heart, the area throbbed and the pain magnified. Hot tears leaked out of my eyes from the unbearable pain. Gradually, I noticed my mother kneeling next to me, trying to support me. I needed a doctor fast- my leg was turning an unhealthy shade of purple and green.

"Where is the town doctor? I think she may have broken her leg!" My mother practically screamed at an innocent bystander. The poor man paled considerably. I shouted in pain when a stone stubbed my toe. Mother was not concerned for my health or the pain I was enduring, she only worried that I would become a cripple. In short, that no man would find me suitable for a wife.

"I-I heard the doctor is out of town for the weekend…," he stuttered.

We had to go to the hospital in Columbus, OH. By the time we arrived, it was just past 10 P.M. and my leg had swollen up to the size of a small melon. I was instantly carried into a large, white room and set on a clean bed. The other four occupants of the room peeked out from behind their white curtains curiously. Then I heard the quick steps of the city doctor entering the room.

All pain was forgotten as I stared at the tall, handsome man standing next to my bed. His skin was smooth and pale, like flawless marble. He had sun-kissed blond hair combed back in a neat, business-like way but his golden eyes were kind. He looked like an angel with his unearthly brilliance.

"My name is Dr. Cullen. Looks like you broke your calf bone, Miss Platt. How did you manage that?" Dr. Cullen spoke with an exceptionally smooth voice (even his _voice_ was beautiful!). I detected a soft, British accent. He looked at my swollen leg disapprovingly.

"Esme fell off a tree in our farm and landed on a hard rock. Lord knows what she was doing up there." (I had been reading a girly novel) Luckily for me, my mother had answered for me. I was still studying Dr. Cullen. He looked extremely young to be a doctor- maybe in his early twenties. Although there were dark circles under his eyes, (I guess doctors had a very tiring job) he still looked like a magnificent angel.

Dr. Cullen gave me painkillers with sedatives to help me sleep. The medicine kicked in immediately. The last person my foggy mind focused on was the glorious face of my doctor.

When I woke up, my leg was cast in a bulky, white cast and the earlier pain reduced to a dull ache. The room was bathed with a faint pinkish-orange color. I looked out the windows. Fluffy cotton candy clouds filled the sky like a field of pink sheep. It was the dawn of a new day. I would be milking the cows back at home.

"Miss Platt! Good morning." Dr. Cullen smiled at me. He walked in through the wide doorway, his polished shoes lightly tapping against the hospital floor. I noticed his perfect rows of white teeth brightened his features considerably.

"You too,Dr. Cullen. Um...where's my mother?" I asked, feeling much better this morning.

"She left for home after I set your cast." Of course, typical Mother. We were not wealthy and barely supported ourselves by our own produce of fruit, vegetables, and milk- all from our very own farm. I sighed resignedly.

"So...how long do I have to stay here? Not that I don't like this hospital but my parents need help to run the farm." To tell the truth, I really didn't care whether I ever left the hospital. At home, my mother would only lecture me endlessly on the principles of becoming a lady and a good wife. Then my father would boss me around- I'd wash, cook, clean, sew, and basically serve his needs. Sometimes, when he was displeased, my father punished me…

But here...I ogled the _god_ in front of me shamelessly...who would want to leave that blindingly faultless smile? That soothing, chocolate-smooth voice? Those strong, muscular arms?

"I suppose you _may _leave today, but I suggest you stay for another day until your- "

"Oh no, I'll stay for another day. In fact, I feel really tired already. That tree I fell off of was so high! I've never had a broken bone anywhere before. I'll have all my friends sign my cast when I get back home...Aren't the clouds so pretty today…?" I grinned sheepishly at my rambling words. Dr. Cullen did not look irritated, however. He actually looked interested.

"Go ahead and talk all you want. I'm not going anywhere soon and I have been deprived of real company for a long time."

It was remarkably enjoyable to talk to Dr. Cullen. My best friend, also my only neighbor for one and a half miles, had been gone to visit her dying grandmother and I haven't had anyone to talk to for a month now. And with my parents' strange new behavior now that I was 16 (of marrying age), my first broken bone, and my new dreams, there was a lot I needed to talk about.

I poured out funny and depressing stories of my parents and the average farm day. When I told him about how my father's face got as red as a rotten tomato when he was in a bad mood and when he had raged at me for an hour straight, Dr. Cullen looked displeased. He scrunched up his brows and the edges of he mouth turned down in a frown. The expression was so comical on his beautiful features that I burst out laughing. His face broke out into a sunny smile and I switched the subject to my dreams and ambitions to be a schoolteacher.

I wanted to move West and see the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined teaching little children the ABCs in a little oceanfront schoolhouse, where I could take in the beauty of the sea from my teacher's desk. I have always loved young children. Sometimes, I think I was born with a motherly instinct. The one and only time I have ever told my parents about my dream, my father's cheeks turned into the color of a plum and a vein on his forehead throbbed threateningly.

_"A humble schoolteacher? Esme Anne Platt! You are to wed a wealthy man of good standing. No more, no less, is that understood? Your mother and I are depending on you. There is no future as a poorly paid woman schoolteacher in the West. What respectable lady lives_ _alone?"_ In other words, they expected me to marry them into wealthy-ness.

Adding to our conversation, Dr. Cullen mentioned that this would be his last month in Columbus. An important hospital in Chicago had hired him. I literally shook my head when he admitted his age. He was actually almost 35 years old! No, he could scarcely be over 25. When I told him that, his eyes twinkled happily. He told me I could call him Carlisle if I wanted. It was not a common name, actually quite old-fashioned, but somehow I felt that "Carlisle" suited him. I told Carlisle to call me Esme.

A nurse bustled in with a tray filled with bread, milk, and fruit. I was about to take a swig from the glass of milk but I remembered my manners.

"Have you eaten yet Dr. Cul-Carlisle?"

"No. I will have some breakfast after my shift ends here- but thank you for your concern." Then he sat there, just three feet away from me, on an easy chair, and watched me eat.

I'm sure the food was good but with Carlisle watching me with his golden eyes, I could not taste the food and it mostly went down automatically. I stared back into his eyes shamelessly. I concentrated on the shape of his mouth, his eyes, and his strong jaw. A sliver of weak sunlight lit up his golden hair in a way that made it seem almost multi-faceted, like a diamond. I played on the fantasy of one day running my hands through that angel hair. However, I was only 16 at the time, and he a respectful city doctor. I was plainly just a child in his eyes. His beautiful, honey eyes. My spoon scraped against empty china plate. My eyes had not left Carlisle's since he had sat down in that chair to watch me eat.

Seeing that my plate was empty, he stood up to go. The spell was broken and I hastily tried get out of bed. I had forgotten about the cast on my leg and the weight of it was like an anchor. Caught off guard, I lost my balance, and would have fallen if not for the doctor. He caught me in his arms and for a split second, I could smell his distinctive scent (a wonderful cologne I supposed), but I was already sitting on the bed again while Carlisle strode out of the room rapidly.

I was worried that the close proximity had bothered him but presently, he returned with a pair of crutches. Within a few minutes of coaching, I could move around with ease. Carlisle looked pleased at my new skill.

"You are stronger than I thought. I think you can leave today." I opened my mouth to protest. To leave him _now _after having met him the night before? To go home an succumb to my monotonous parents? No. Way.

"I'm proud of you, Esme." My mouth snapped shut.

I'd never had crutches before and at first, I thought they were rather amusing but getting down the steps to the carriage was a huge task. Dr. Cullen had to help me down and once again, I was in his arms. At last, I made it into the carriage.

"Until we meet again," said Dr. Cullen.

"Until we meet again," I echoed. "And get some sleep!" I watched my inhumanly good-looking doctor retreat into the hospital with my head poking out of the window. He was smiling at my last sentence. Somehow, I knew I wouldn't see him again for a long time, but never the less I would see him again.

Years passed. I watched all my friends marry good men and move away in spectacular bliss. None of my suiters were _rich _enough for my parents. Not that I really cared anyway. None of the young men I saw were the equal of Dr. Carlisle Cullen. As I said before, my father was deeply opposed to my plan to be a schoolteacher in the West and before long, I was alone at the Platt farm, milking cows and cleaning the house all day long. I felt lonely without my circle of friends but no man has caught my eye yet. Even though I have always known Dr. Cullen was way above my league (and that he had moved out of Columbus), I've never quite given up on him. I could still remember the softness of his voice, the exact tint of his hair, and his glowing skin. I even recall the fragrance of his cologne. I would give anything to see him again, to go back to that day I broke my leg when the local doctor was out of town. For now, I was content with my peaceful life on the farm. Little did I know that a certain Charles Evenson would soon shatter my quiet world.

My parents were good friends with the Evensons. They were avery prosperousfamily and their son, Charles Evenson (who was a staggering _nine _years my senior), had very good prospects as a business owner. For my 22nd birthday, the Evensons threw a party for me. I thought this was just kind generosity but it was more like a gift to soften me up. Barely 15 minutes into the party, Charles proposed to me in public.

I really should have seen it coming. Mother had been strangely optimistic the whole week, my father had bought luxuries we usually couldn't afford, and tonight, Mother had lavished her precious pearls and silks on me. I barely knew 31 year old Charles Evenson and now there was nothing I could do other than to accept the proposal. I couldn't leave my parents in a swamp of debt from their hasty overindulgence. And if I refused, there would be hell to pay from my father. My parents would be humiliated indefinitely for rejecting such a perfect match.

_After all, Charles Evenson might not be so bad_.

I was dressed in a lovely white muslin dress with puffed sleeves. Standing next to me, Charles shifted uncomfortably in his black tuxedo. Finally, the old priest ended his monotnous droning and asked the life-altering question.

"Do you, Charles Evenston, take Esme Platt as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." Charles' dark orbs stared deeply into mine.

"Do you, Esme Platt, take Charles Evenston as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." I sealed my future.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride," ended the priest. The audience twittered expectantly.

Oh no, I was dreading this part. Would the audience see that my kiss was not genuine? I'd never even had a conversation with Charles Evenson! How could I really love him? My heart pounded to burst through my chest. What would his kiss be like? Charles turned to me and lifted the veil. I felt his arm snake around my waist and pull me towards him. My eyes stretched wide open as he leaned in towards me and his lips joined with mine.

I had never _really_ kissed anyone before. There was my very first kiss, at a tender age of twelve, when little Bobbie Wright had pecked me over a game of Spin-the-Bottle. Then there was Walter Bishop, my beau when I was fifteen. He'd kissed me several times, each only a momentary sweetness masking the awkward moments on my doorstep. We'd only been together for two months, and it was all just kid stuff, really.

Charles was actually quite gentle with me. His lips caressed mine for a civilized second or so and then he released me. The warmth of him lingered over my mouth. No tongue. I felt elated that it was over. In fact, I thought that maybe in time, I could grow to like Charles Evenson. Yet a tiny voice inside my head whispered that no one but Dr. Cullen himself could guarantee my happiness.

I drifted off to the wedding party on the arm of my new husband. Charles was polite and gracious to all of our guests, greeting them by name one by one and exchanging compliments. I tried to do the same but I probably knew only 20 of the guests. Eventually, I just settled for smiling amiably at everyone, like a love struck newlywed. Sickening. But there was nothing else I can do.


	2. Hell

_AN: This is definitely the most hellish part of Esme's life. Tell me if you think it's too steamy for a T rating but I had to make it brutal for poor Esme because she does c-- oops I almost told you what happens ;) Well according to the actual owner of Twilight, Stephenie Meyer, Esme's human life was horrible so...hope you enjoy the second chapter! Keep the reviews coming in._

_Haha...I finally update!_

* * *

_CH.2 HELL_

My new husband and I were heading home now. The wedding party had dragged on into the banquet. Then all the toasts and dances dragged the banquet past midnight. Charles had his arm draped about my shoulders in the automobile; his breath reeked of wine from the numerous toasts. I myself felt cramped, but fortunately clear-minded. I had refrained from any alcohol.

"We're here! Is this your place?" The driver turned halfway back with raised eyebrows.

I looked…and my jaw dropped. A classic Victorian mansion stood proudly at the opposite side of the large, trimmed lawn flanked by a circular pathway and tall, secretive trees. The edges of the lawn were lined with Jasmine and Begonia. Not too long ago, I have read a book on the meaning of flowers and I remembered that Jasmine stood for wealth. It was fitting that these flowers decorated the massive estate. However, I couldn't remember what Begonias meant.

"Yes, this is our stop." Charles turned to me. "Do you like your new home Esme?"

"It's beautiful." That was the truth.

Charles took my bag and helped me off the coach. Then the driver clattered away and disappeared at the bend of the road. My husband opened the front door for me. I stepped into the threshold.

That's when it started.

Upon entering, a magnificent, curving staircase dominated the high ceiling room. Warm, wooden floorboards covered the ground. A golden chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. Several paintings and intricate tapestries hung on the walls.

"I'll take your things upstairs to our room. You can have a look around our home and meet me upstairs later." He was looking at me, only not at my eyes. I blushed and looked away. This was the first time I had detected any rude behavior from Charles Evenson. I suppressed a shiver uncomfortably. _Our _room sounded a little suggestive.

I shrugged off the feeling and, taking his advice, picked a room to start touring in. I began with a living room occupied by a few fat leather armchairs and sofas. There were also two fire hearths on the opposite sides of the room. I imagined cuddling up with Charles under a wooly blanket in the puffiest sofa nearest to the fire. However, I simply could not see myself reclining _comfortably_ in his arms. A hallway connected this room to a formal dining room with a stately mahogany table and cushioned chairs. Then there was a little kitchen through the opposite door.

As I ascended the grand staircase, I realized there weren't any hired hands around the house. We would be alone, Charles and I. It was strange that he hadn't hired anyone to help keep the house. Not even a cook or a maid.

There were four rooms upstairs. I passed a furnished office, a guestroom, a large bathroom, and, at the end of the hall, was _our _bedroom.

"Esme! It's late, time for bed." Charles called from the bedroom loudly.

I jumped and entered the room hesitantly. There was a four poster bed hung with velvet curtains as high as my waist topped with plush feather pillows and a luxurious quilt. At the east wall, there was a large window with a cushioned bench.

He was sprawled out on the bed among all the luxurious furnishing, like a king, but he leapt up the moment I entered.

"Esme, you took so long! I was getting worried about you."

"I'll just go…clean up and get ready for bed, okay? I'll be just a moment Charles." In reality, I wanted to delay the time before I had to crawl into bed with him. I tried to smile reassuringly.

"Well hurry up," he complained, "You know I need you." For a moment, he had an almost…hungry expression on his face. Then his firm mouth broke into a smile and he dropped back onto the bed. He closed his eyes and shooed me away with a sharp hand gesture.

As I immersed myself in rose-scented bathwater, I tried to tell myself that there was nothing to worry about in Charles. He was a respectable man, only a little drunk from the wedding drinks earlier today. His ill manners were temporary and would not last the night. Come dawn, my new husband would, once more, become the good Charles Evenson we all knew. I toweled off and slipped into a new silk robe that I had found among the mass of wedding gifts.

I opened the bathroom door, determined to be lighthearted and happy for Charles, and found myself face to face with the man himself. He stood so close that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. An arm found its way around my slim waist. He pulled me to him so that my body was pressed to his and cupped my flushed face in one large hand.

What was this? My heart accelerated to an impossible speed from the touch. One day into our marriage- of real acquaintance- and Charles was already progressing to this level of intimacy?

"I couldn't wait. I need you so much." His hot breath, stagnant with the foul odor of alcohol, wafted across my face, sticking to my moist skin.

Then he kissed me again. This kiss was much rougher than the gentle, decent one I had survived at the wedding. It scared me. Charles' mouth pressed against mine hard. His tongue pushed my lips apart, exploring, invading my mouth. I was too shocked to even take a breath. His mouth glued onto me while my feet took root in the floorboards and I stood there, stiff as a board.

I came out of the coma when Charles swung me onto his broad shoulder and started for the bedroom. He flung me onto the bed and, straddling me, began to kiss my neck while untying the delicate ribbon that held my robe together. I unsuccessfully tried to suppress the urge to shudder in disgust but he didn't notice. Charles was breathing heavily now, and seemed to have some trouble undoing the knot. I was still shocked and confused but I knew where this was going. I did not want it, not now. I was not yet ready for the experience, I was still getting used to the concept of marriage. This was happening too fast.

"Charles, I'm not ready for this."

He looked at me blankly for a moment, then ignored me.

"Please, I barely know you. Stop. Listen to me."

He muttered irritably, incoherently, but continued to try the knot.

"What did you say?" I put a hand on his arm and gripped it firmly, trying to slow him down. It was a bad move.

"I. Said. SHUT UP!" He jerked his hand out of my grip and ripped out the ribbon in his rage. For a moment, he viewed my naked body with lust. Then, with renewed fervor, Charles pulled off his shirt.

I was frightened but tried not to show it. I couldn't let him see I was docile, controllable. I had to stand firm.

I pushed myself into a sitting position. With my face centimeters away from Charles', I locked my eyes onto his.

"No. Not today. Please."

He seemed a bit taken back from my defiance but slowly, a mocking sneer creeped up on his features and he did the most dreadful thing yet...He slapped me. Hard. Hard enough to send my head spinning sideways. Hard enough I finally realized that Charles Evenson was a complete monster and that I was in danger every second I spent in his presence. I lay back down on the bed fearfully, my cheeks still tingling from the blow.

Charles leaned down into me and whispered vehemently, "In _my _house, _I _make all the decisions. You are _my _wife, you have no right to talk to me like that. But I do. I can do whatever I want with _you_. Remember that."

He lay down on me again and tried to kiss me but I turned my head away from him and pushed against his chest with my hands in a feeble atempt to resist him.

He slapped me again on the exposed side of my face. Even harder than the first.

"DAMN IT GIRL! When will you learn?" Another slap. My cheeks stung hotly. Whimpering, slightly dizzy, I turned to him. His eyes were wild. I let my hands fall from his chest.

"Better." Charles began to take off his pants ominously. I stared at him, overwhelmed by the feeling of helplessness. He nudged my knees apart and lowered himself onto my quivering form. This time, I did not resist.

"_Much better Esme,_" he purred, and he took advantage of me.

Charles grabbed my hips and thrust himself into me, spearing me like a sword. I wanted to scream when he entered me, but what good could that do? No one would be able to hear me, and he was strong. So much stronger than me.

I felt so helpless. I was a doll in my husband's rough hands.

I tuned out of my current predictament and thought back to earlier today, when I had been utterly unknowing. I had once thought that Charles Evenson was a good man, that I could only have a good life (though inadequate) to be wedded to him. I remembered the last moment of public contact; Charles had been decent up to the point the cab driver disappeared at the bend of the road. I recalled seeing the beautiful house and the impressive lawn with the delicate flowers. Strangely, I now remembered the language of Begonia flowers.

_"Beware" they said_.

The warning had come too late. I moaned painfully as Charles thrust deeply into me.

- - -


	3. Hope

_**AN:I'm sorry it took like three months to get this out. :( But I hope you enjoy this chapter. Some parts were harder to create. It moves kinda slow at first but eventually it picks up pace I guess. Remember to review! And since I'm no history teacher, please give me pointers if some details are wrong...(that includes grammar as well) Thanks!!**_

_One year and eight months later...January, 1919_

_CH. 3 HOPE_

_- - -_

"All right Grace, I'll meet you at the Sunday school after the 11:00 service and we'll all have lunch together. Don't worry! I won't forget. Bye."

I hung up and plopped onto the nearest armchair with a sigh. Sunday was my favorite day of the week. After teaching Sunday school, I usually had lunch with Kelly, but she had gone to New York for Christmas so I was eating with Grace and her friends this week. Not that there was anything wrong with Grace, she just wasn't my type. Kelly and I have been good friends from the first time I met her at church.

The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound in the house. I watched as a log was overtaken by hungry flames of fire, and then, with an air of surrender, it broke into two charred halves and fell out of my sight. I turned my face so that the other side was exposed to the blaze and dragged on a feather throw. I knew there were school papers begging to be graded somewhere in my canvas bag but I was loath to leave the cozy warmth of the fire. Presently, I succumbed to the realm of dreams. Sweet as well as bitter, both existed with the forgetfulness of sleep.

_I was in my classroom. Alone. It was the end of another demanding school day. An almost-summer day. All my pupils had already set off for home. Waiting for them, was a hot dinner, as well as the unconditional love of their parents. I packed away the day's papers hurriedly, eager to retire into the peaceful retreat of my own home..._

_My car crawled into the circular driveway of my home. When I stepped out of the automobile, I observed something unusual in the air. The scent of my flowers was not the same. Changed. I threw a glance to the lawn carelessly and froze. But before I had time to register the full meaning of the change, I was pulled roughly into a familiar burly chest. I tried to scream but a suffocating hand clapped about my face stiffled the sound. The smell of cheap beer was stagnant in the sticky air. A hated voice growled into my ear: "Did you miss me? I sure missed you..." _

_A hand crawled under my skirt and traveled upwards greedily. I shivered in revulsion and struggled fruitlessly against my enemy. I was hoisted onto his shoulder and carried indoors. Oh no, OH NO! STOP CHARLES! PLEASE STOP-_

I fell out of the armchair in a nervous fit. The feather throw was damp with my sweat. I looked around- left, right. The fire had long been reduced to glowing embers. There was no sound save for my own uneasy breaths. I clutched my blanket to me nervously and tried to rise. My knees buckled under my slight weight but eventually I stood straight and uncertain in the unyielding winter night. I went to the window, checked the lawn and- laughed hysterically. Of course! It was winter! Neither roses nor jasmine bloomed in the winter. But still, I could see the taller stalks of the roses standing above the snow. Muscles relaxed in relief.

Ascending the staircase, I avoided the bigger room with the king bed (which I havent stepped a foot inside for almost two years) and instead, entered _my_ room, the humble guestroom. These nightmares always left me confused and worn-out but I didn't let them get in the way of my job. A hefty stack of fifth grade exams were quickly judged- pass or fail. Fs and Ds went in one smaller pile, Cs, Bs, and As went in the other. Soon, I was done for the day. But sleep did not come to me as easily as before.

I've been having these nightmares more frequently. The war is ending in favor of the Americans and Charles would be back soon...I haven't recieved any letter about his death in battle. No! I musn't stoop to his level. However, a wisp of that hope stayed in my heart and glowed even brighter. The last year and a half had been much too pleasant: I've had the house to myself, taught Sunday school at the church, a job at the Columbus Elementary, and the most important thing- _freedom._ I will NEVER part with that again.

- - -

_**Dear Esme,**_

_**October 16, 1919 **_

_**The war has ended. Thank god! Another day of dead bodies, trench bunks, corpse rats and the rotten German weather is unthinkable. I'll be returning on November 21st at 5:00 P.M. Drive up and meet me there at the Columbus Airport. We're having dinner with David and Grace Walker. Do you remember them? So dress accordingly to celebrate the American victory. Don't forget-November 21st.**_

_**Your Husband, **_

**_Charles Evenson_**

_- - - _

I finished reading the letter. Hyperventilating, I collapsed onto the porch swing. Unfortunately, a porch swing isn't a very good thing to collapse onto and I promptly fell off the seat. Nursing a bruise on my knee, I reread the letter a couple times and finally understood- Charles would be back in a month. Charles would be back to hurt me...and he was back for good this time.

There _was_ nothing I could do but to go grant his wishes. On November 21st, I put on a tasteful green dress, pushed a sparkling clip into my caramel hair, and drove to the airport to welcome home my husband. I waited with a small crowd of other families with men who had been in the war. Grace Walker quickly found me and pulled me to a bench, prattling on and on about how lovely I looked in my dress and the _happiness_ I must be _feeling_ on the return of my **beloved** husband!

I was the only person there who wasn't bouncing in joy but was instead, sullen and pale with dread. Grace held a one-sided conversation happily-oblivious to the moody silence on my part.

"...And I just can't believe I'm finally going to see David again after so many endless months! The dinner will just be great. It'll be like the old days: you and Charles, me and David. They were always the best of friends-"

Suddenly, she jumped off the bench and hurried to the sideline of the runway, shading her eyes with one hand. Others joined her with murmurs of excitement. Then I heard the faint rumble of the engines in the distance. Gradually, the sound increased to a deafening roar and the plane landed, tires screeching in complaint. I stood up shakily and stood next to Grace when passengers began to file out. There were happy shouts and embraces and kisses as families were reunited. I stared at them all in wonder- why did love come to others so easily?

Even my own parents...they hardly showed compassion for me when I confessed to them the horror Charles Evenson really was. Instead, I was told to hush; that's what the good, respectable woman does. Of course, I complied, hoping that my obedience would earn the favour of my own husband. It didn't. Now I wonder if he will be different. Did the wretched havoc of war anger his mind? Maybe seeing the desolation would cause him to regret his rough actions before. It seemed too much to hope a monster like him could be tamed...

And there he was- standing tall and straight not four yards from where I stood. Next to him was David Walker, childhood friend of Charles Evenson, unaware of the private face Charles kept at home. Grace squealed and ran into David's arms with the vitality of a teenage girl. They embraced and kissed earnestly. Feeling as though I was intruding upon their tender love, I turned away and eyed Charles cautiously. He was smiling warmly, the hard corners of his mouth turned up unexpectedly. There was a pink scar along his cheek and his hair was longer but other than that, he looked like the same Charles Evenson who had proposed to me two and a half years ago. He held his arms out.

"Don't I get a hug too?"

I stepped into his arms meekly. Charles held my face in one hand and tilted his head to kiss me easier. He was gentle now, but when there were no witnesses...

"How about some dinner? Charles..." David called laughing.

We broke apart and I flushed uncomfortably. Charles had an arm around my waist. It weighed me down.

"Right Bill. Why don't we go to The Grill ? **(AN:I'm sorry I can't think of a name of a fancy restaurant that would exist in the 1920s..If you have a good name, feel free and tell me)** " said Charles.

"Sure. It's a pretty long drive though and it'll be crowded. It's Friday night."

Charles and I were quiet during the drive. I sneaked a peek at him once and his expression was unfathomable. It looked like he was struggling to keep something down. But at the same time, there was a hint of gratefulness in his actions. I could only assume he was struggling with the pain of the war, and that he was grateful for being back on good, American soil.

The Grill was crowded, as always. The wait was just over an hour for the four of us.

" Why don't we have a little bit of fun tonight?" said David cheerfully, gesturing toward the alcohol section.

" A _little_ bit won't hurt I guess. I haven't had any of this in years!" Charles chuckled.

I stiffened and concentrated on the menu, ignoring their friendly banter.

" Esme? What about you?" Grace inquired.

I looked up unwillingly and chose the cheapest pasta dish on the menu.

Charles scoffed and ordered a filet mignon for me.

" I won't have my wife eating macaroni and cheese at The Grill. This is a special occasion Esme!" Charles smiled at me but there was no laughter in his cold eyes. I had embarrased him.

The night passed in a haze of cheerful talk and superb food. Charles and David both had their share of wine and by the time dessert came to our table, they spoke in slurred, incoherent voices. Grace and I didn't have too much alcohol and we were pretty much sober other than the warm fuzzy feeling in my toes and fingertips.

" Grace'll have terdrive me. Eh love?" slurred David. He leaned in to kiss Grace and missed her entirely. She laughed as she took hold of his face in both hands and kissed him lightly on the nose and lips. He smiled dreamily.

" It's..." Charles checked his watch, " Twelve- er one? I dunno but it's late." He stood up unsteadily. I looped his right arm around my shoulders and helped him to our car. He headed to the driver's side but I got there before he did. Charles looked at me, amused.

" I'll drive tonight. You've had too much to drink." He still looked doubtful.

" Look," I nodded towards David and Grace who were also getting into their car, "Grace is driving for David too. You'd drive us into a tree. Please just let me drive this one time," I pleaded.

Charles sighed and trudged to the other side.

" 'Night Charles. Good luck Esme," David was leaning out of a rolled down window. Grace smiled and waved from the driver's side.

"Bye, we'll see you on Sunday," I called.

20 minutes later we were pulling into the circular driveway of our home.

I was lucky. Charles was snoring two minutes into the drive home. I helped him to the stairs and then I had to wake him up...I couldn't single-handedly drag him up the stairs. It took me several rough shakes to his shoulder to get him to open an eye. Fortunately, he dropped onto the bed as soon as he cleared the stairs. I quietly closed the door and tiptoed to the guestroom. If he asked me why tomorrow, I'll just say I didn't want to wake him up. Besides, I was too tired to care...

- - -

_...What was that sound? It was so bright..._

These two simple thoughts had barely touched my mind when I felt a sharp blow to my cheek. Then, my head was pulled up by the hair painfully. My hands reached up automatically to free myself and felt nothing but air. I bounced back onto the bed and when my tired eyes could finally focus, there was Charles, leaning against my desk casually. I froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. The tension in the air was suffocating.

"You know, I was expecting a somewhat _warmer_ welcome back home?" drawled Charles coldly.

I gulped.

"You could start by making me some breakfast- I"m really hungry-it's almost noon. Don't you remember your duty? I work hard for our home, the food, taxes- the least you can do is to cook..."

"I'm s-sorry Charles," I mumbled. I pushed myself off the bed and stood up, muscles tense, joints stiff. Warily, I stepped around him and left the room safely. Once out of Charles' field of vision, I ran down the stairs and tried to set up some breakfast efficiently. Charles' toast had to be perfectly browned, the bacon had to have the right crisp, eggs were _always_ sunny-side up. And when he sat down to eat, everything on his plate was HOT. I worked feverishly, knowing that he would be down any minute.

HOW could I have forgotten this morning ritual? It had been the same for every day I'd lived with him. In the mornings, I would wake up early, pick out his clothes, heat the bath water, put his shoes out, and by the time he came down, I would have a hot breakfast ready for him-fresh out of the pan. In the evenings, it was somewhat like this as well. When he came home from work, dinner was just ready, his pajamas were laid out, the covers of the bed were warm, and after our meal, I would give him a massage to help ease the stress from an average work day.

The food was ready and Charles wasn't down yet. French toast, eggs sunny-side up, bacon, black coffee, sugar, cream, warm knife and fork, spoon on the little coffee dish, heated plate, warm napkin, pure maple syrup-where was he? I set the table and tried to keep the food from cooling too much by setting the plates next to the stove. Charles finally came down when I filled the sink with warm soap water.

I set his breakfast down in front of his seat and turned away, knowing that the storm would come with his first bite.

"Esme. Come here."

I cringed but shuffled slowly towards him. He was frowning at the inoffensive plate. He hadn't even taken a bite. I was two feet away from him when he abruptly snapped out an arm and hooked it around my waist, pinning me to his side.

"What's this? Pig feed? It's worse than what we had to eat in the trenches. How am I supposed to eat cold food? Is there something wrong with your brain? You KNOW I don't like anything less than hot." His lips were at my ear, spitting out these hateful words.

Gasping, I looked down and blinked away angry tears. Charles had no right. Who told you to take so long coming down? What's wrong with YOU?

A slap brought me back to reality and with mortification, I realized I had been shouting out my thoughts at Charles.

His face was beyond fury. He was MAD. My husband seemed incapable of speech as he slammed me down onto the table and took off his belt. I stared at him in horror. I have never ever smart-mouthed at him so badly.

He held me down with one hand. The belt was in his other as he raised it high threateningly. I winced and held an arm out to protect my face -_the belt flashed_- and unexpectedly, it came down onto my unprotected legs. I wanted to scream, the pain was bursting out of me, but I kept it in. Screaming would provoke the monster even more. So instead, near-silent tears coursed down my face as the belt flashed again...and again. Several blows left parallel, angry cuts with an expanse of raw skin between. The pain triggered my natural defense- I tuned out- and then I was wrapped in a safe cocoon where Charles was only the villian in the movie theatres.

- - -

Oh god.

It's happened.

Joy. Fear. Hope.

That's what I'll call her...Hope. For some crazy reason I was sure my baby would be a girl.

My stomach churned and I leaned over the toilet again. Ugh. Morning sickness.

And now my mind clicked into action. I was pregnant. There was now a new life growing within me. But it was also Charles' daughter. Was it possible for him to control himself around his own? A baby wouldn't survive a week with that beast. No, a child must not be taken into this house.

Would I have to smother the life in order to protect it? I looked down at my flat stomach. That was ridiculous. Surely there was another way.

It was three weeks to the Evensons' New Years party. It was already the talk of the town. Everyone important in Columbus had been invited. Between the merry drinks and the laughter and the music and the dancing, surely no one would miss me-the prim, sensible wife of handsome, successful Charles Evenson? If I planned it right, no one would know until it was too late. The impossibility of the idea made me dizzy. Running away from one of the most powerful men in Columbus was insanity.

Yet...I couldn't condemn the life of my child. I loved her already and she's only existed for two weeks. All of a sudden, my path was clear. We would leave on new years eve of 1920...


	4. A New Life

_AN: I'm sorry but I haven't proofread this chapter since I really wanted to get it out. BTW Happy late Halloween and Dias de Los Muertos peoples! Do enjoy your trick r treating candy while you read this._

_I've already disclaimed this in the first chapter._

_CH.4 A NEW LIFE_

_

* * *

__December 31st, 1919 (New Year's Eve)_

_11:00 A.M._

" No, we're baking the cakes and desserts first. Sandwiches won't be fresh by the time our guests arrive if we make them now. Do you think you can fetch me some walnuts from the cellar?"

My nine year old niece nodded seriously and went off down to the cellar. I sighed and stirred the cake batter. She was such a sweet little girl. I could hardly believe she had Evenson blood in her.

" Esme?"

I smiled brightly and hugged my mother earnestly. Despite our arguments, I was glad to see her.

" Thank you so much for coming Mother. It's been months since I've seen you!"

" Oh, well I've got to see my baby girl living her new life. I wouldn't miss this for the world! You're finally doing something with your new family. How's Charles?" I frowned and looked away.

" Charles is-" She smiled at me, urging me to be a good wife, "- fine. We're fine."

" I'm glad to hear that, Esme. Anyways, your father is helping the men move furniture so that there's space for our guests. I'm here to make sure we have award-winning pies tonight." I rolled my eyes- my mother was proud holder of the annual county fair's " Best Apple Pie" and " Best Trifle" awards. Just then, my niece returned with a jar of walnuts.

" Why thank you, dear. I want you to meet someone." I turned to my mother, " This is my mother, and Mom, this is my darling niece Mary."

Mary curtsied and smiled dazzlingly, a lovely china doll shipped from Paris. Naturally, Mother was charmed and while she fussed over my niece, I threw some nuts into the batter and stirred just enough for them to be evenly spread. Then I spooned the mix into tiny cupcake molds and placed them all into the hot oven. Mary pranced out of the kitchen to watch the men moving the furniture.

" Look, Charles is a good man inside. I'm sure it'll get better. Talk to him, Esme. He'll understand. It's a new year, leave your past troubles behind and set a new life for you two. Making a big mess of things will only make it worse. I just- want you to be happy." I looked at my mother, her eyes were moist. Smiling, I hugged her again.

" I know, I know. I know you want the best for me." Mother pulled away and looked me in the eye.

" Will you really? Promise me." I stared back sincerely, willing her to believe.

" I promise, Mother." I'll leave my past behind and establish a new life for _us..._my daughter and I. And in the long run, I might actually be happy.

It was fitting. A new year, a new life.

" Auntie? Mommy's back. She needs help with the groceries."

" I'll be right there, dearest," Mary left with a grin and another curtsy to Mother, " Um, the cellar is at the end of the hall, there are pots and pans in the cupboard over there, measuring cups and bowls and other tools are in the cupboard over here, so you can get started with your award-winning apple pie as soon as I take in the groceries, Mother." I turned to leave but she held my hand tightly, not releasing me just yet.

" Remember what I said," whispered Mother. I nodded and she closed her eyes, letting me go.

She was on a seat at the kitchen table, sobbing into her arms, when I left the kitchen.

- - -

I walked through the house, marveling at what our hard work had gone into. Red, white, gold, and blue streamers hung from every wall and wound through the staircase handrails. Just beneath the stairs, there was a stunning white grand piano- a hired pianist was now practicing some elegant classics. The furniture in the living room had been arranged so that the room seemed even bigger than before and welcoming flames danced in the confines of their hearths. The formal dining room had been transformed with heaping platters of gourmet food, several punch bowls, a chocolate fountain, mountains of fruit, and an immense tower of wine glasses. Every surface was spotlessly clean- Mary had eagerly taken care of that. I went outside and saw that our home looked like a gingerbread house, with the colorful lights shining from every window, the evergreen trees outside with Christmas trinkets, and the fresh snow only two days old.

" Congratulations everyone, the house is ready for the big night coming up!" There were whoops and cheers from the men, " So everyone get your party clothes- our guests will arrive in an hour. Thank you, everyone here, for helping to make this night possible."

A quarter to seven, guests began arrive. They came covered in furs and the expensive new brand-name styles. Diamonds, pearls and various other jewels glittered everywhere. As a host, I dutifully waited by the door and greeted them one by one with Charles. It was a very chilly night- in the 30s I believe. Our visitors all hurried indoors with grateful smiles. Before long, the circular driveway was full and some had to park outside on the road. At half past seven, Charles and I left our station at the door and made small talk.

I took this time to greet as many people as I could. I had to establish my presence until it was time to go. I couldn't leave too late either; when they started the countdown to the new year, I would certainly be wanted and Charles would start a search. I must be quick, precise...there musn't be any indication of a difference in Esme Evenson.

I was anxious to leave. When others weren't watching, I filled a napkin with food from the dining room-fruits, cakes, sandwiches and coldcuts. Mostly, I sat in the living room and stared at the clock unless someone spoke to me. But then there was a flaw in the plan that I hadn't thought about. The car Charles had bought for me attracted quite a lot of attention. It was a gorgeous, shiny, obnoxious Porsche. _(AN: did Porsches exist back then? Anyway, some type of luxury car) _A car like that was easily recognizable for miles and miles around; that would make escaping and staying under the radar kind of hard.

It was now 9:00. I discreetly left the living room and went down into the cellar, where I had hidden my things. Inside, I threw on a thick coat, a woolly scarf, and laced up a pair of boots. These were all in plain, inconspicuous colors. And then I was creeping up the stairs. Every step taking me closer to freedom...

" Esme?"

I froze, rooted to the spot. No! I could literally feel my plan disintegrating to ashes. My mother looked almost as shocked as I was. She stood there with the door half-open, staring at me with her lips parted in "O". We stared at each other for a minute before I thawed out enough to speak.

" I-I can explain, Mother." I don't know what I had expected her to do. Scream and cry for everyone to help hold down her treacherous offspring? Gasp and fall with a heart attack? Condemn me to an eternity in hell there and then? Instead, my mother carefully closed the door behind her and descended down into the cellar with me.

" Remember when I told you about Charles? He's hurt me again and I can't let him hurt Hope. I know he would if he had the chance. And I know what you're about to say, Mother: ' Charles is a good man inside. Give him a second chance. Talk to him...' But I can't take that chance! I love her and I can't knowingly let him hurt her. Please Mother!" She held up a hand.

" Who is she? Who's- Hope?" That's right, Mother didn't know yet.

" She's my own b-baby girl...I'm pregnant." The word floated across the room. _Pregnant._

We were silent. Sounds of laughter and clinking of wineglasses drifted down to us from above.

" How long have you known?"

" Three weeks."

" Oh my. I'm going to be a grandmother." She beamed at me and I gaped at her, agast. " Esme, I've been wrong about so many things and I'm sorry for not listening to you earlier. However, I need to get some batteries right now. They sent me down here to find some for the radio."

" Wait- what? Where's the speech about being good a woman, a good wife?"

" You _are _being a good woman...what woman wouldn't risk everything to save her own child? Now, I'm going to go upstairs, tell everyone I'm going into town to buy some batteries, and drive my car out onto the road. You're going to get out of this house- make sure no one sees you- and meet me on the road. I'll give you a ride."

Mother skipped up the stairs and left the cellar. I heard her speaking to the crowd above. Stealthily, I tiptoed to the back door, where I slid out into the cold, snowy, winter night.

- - -

" I still don't understand. Why are you helping me runaway?"

" It's a bit difficult to explain." I waited. She sighed and continued.

" You see, that first month into your marriage, I thought maybe you two were just having some newlywed struggles-"

" Even when I showed you the bruises? The cuts? Newlywed 'struggles' Mother?" I snarled.

" I didn't realize it was so severe." I fumed and looked out the window at the dark trees racing by. Presently, I was alarmed to hear my mother crying softly.

" I'm sorry." I murmured.

" No, it's not that." I could hear the reluctance quite clearly in her voice but there was more...she was holding something from me.

" Then what is it? Please stop keeping things from me, Mother. I want to know, to understand. I'm not a child anymore. I am 25, married, and-" I gestured to my stomach, " I'm going to have a baby!"

My mother pulled into the bank's parking lot.

" It's not that I don't trust you or that I still think you're the innocent little girl you used to be- just some...things...in my past, I don't want to talk about right now. "

I toyed with some buttons on my coat. " Is it...Dad?"

Mother closed her eyes and exhaled. She placed her small, work-roughened hands on each side of my face. " I love you Esme. But I'm afraid that if you loiter here any longer, Charles might find you and...I'm sorry for keeping you here so long."

I stepped out of the car.

" Will you be alright by yourself?"

" Yes," I answered faintly.

" Where will you go?" I opened my mouth to reply- but she cut me off, " Stop! No, it's better if I don't know, but you _will_ write me?"

" I love you, Mother."

" Will we see each other again?" she asked softly.

I looked down at the snow underfoot and blinked rapidly as tears burned in my eyes. Would I ever see her again? The chances of that were very low.

" I don't know," I whispered.

" Then...this is goodbye."

" Goodbye. I'll miss you."

She started to roll up the window- " Wait!" Mother looked up at me expectantly, her gray eyes gazing up at me, her caramel hair so much like mine clipped up into an elegant bun, " Enjoy the party." The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly in the cheerless imitation of a smile- and next thing I knew, Mother was gone and I was shivering all alone in the snow.

- - -

After emptying my account of two years' worth of teaching, it was a simple matter of hailing a taxi to the train station and from there, buying tickets from Columbus to Indianapolis and from Indianapolis to Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

All this happened in a dreamlike, unrealistic quality. Sometime during the train ride, fluffy snow flakes began to flurry outside the windows. I sat by myself in a squashed train compartment and let my thoughts wander. It was very quiet in the train. Most people were attending parties similar to the one at the Evensons'- possibly listening to the countdown over the radio. Others were with their families in front of a roaring fire roasting chestnuts. This wasn't like when Charles had left for the war. I had been very happy for those two years. This time, I have left not only Charles, but also my hometown, Columbus, Ohio. I was truly alone, except for my silent daughter within me. Maybe I should have been happy, but I remembered my mother's sad tears, and the innocent bliss in Mary's doe-like eyes. I would miss them for the hard days to come. My future stretched out over a foreign terrain.

- - -

I was standing on the weather-beaten porch of a familiar farm house. It was in a comfortable shade of faded blue. I still remember when the paint was so new it smelled. There was an old red barn down a little path nearby. About a half-mile down both ways of the country dirt road, there were similar farms just like the one I was standing on now. Everything else was covered in two and a half feet of snow. I rang the doorbell and knocked on the door a few times. Milwaukee was much colder than Columbus. Every breath froze in my throat even before reaching my lungs.

I heard brisk steps muffled through the wooden door. The sash in the little window on the door was pushed aside just enough to reveal wide, gray eyes. A second later the door burst open and a young woman's excited voice rang through the frigid air. " Esme Evenson! Come here you!"

I was embraced by warmth and the smell of cinnamon. My favorite cousin held me tightly, squeezing the air out of my body. "Beatrice?...Lemme...go..please...AIR!" I gasped. Dear Beatrice released me with an impish grin and pushed me indoors with one hand; the other preoccupied carrying my bag. Although she was pretty, slender, and a graceful little creature, Beatrice really had the strength of an ox. I've never known her to lose an arm wrestling match.

" Auntie!" A tiny boy with the same gray eyes and chestnut hair as his mother tumbled down the stairs and into my arms. His dainty little twin pranced down right after. She looked very different, with blonder ringlets and green-blue eyes. The two jumped onto me and I almost toppled over under the combined weight.

" Wow, you two have grown SO much...what has your mother been feeding you? A whole cow every day? Gallons of milk? Bunches of spinach?" Sam and Susan giggled as Beatrice looked on contentedly.

" Alright, darlings. Give your Auntie some air! Would you two please call in your father from the barn for me? Here, I'll button you up." Beatrice fetched some fluffy down coats from a wardrobe and we helped Sam and Susan lace up their boots. To think, I could be buttoning up the coat of my own daughter in several years! Eventually, they toddled out the door, ridiculously fitted head to toe in movement-restricting winter gear. Beatrice turned to me with a radiant smile.

" Children are such angels. You'll let me spoil yours when you get one Esme. Now that we _finally_ get a short moment to catch up- where's your absurdly stiff husband? Charles- oh..." She broke off in confusion as I began to shed tears miserably. In three short sentences, she had touched on the delicate subjects that have forced me to run away from my old home. Instinctively, Beatrice enveloped me in another cinnamon-smelling embrace and moved me into the nearest armchair, where she handed me tissue after tissue. Once I had calmed down enough, I told her _everything_. Throughout my endless blubbering, Beatrice did not make a sound but she clasped my hands tightly in her own and her face took on an increasingly murderous look. When I was done, she closed her eyes, frowning.

After a minute of this, I grew uneasy. " Beatrice? Your children and husband will be back soon."

She looked up and her eyes were livid. " How could I have been so stupid? Charles Evenson, of all people...I should have known- there were rumors...Ugh!" We both heard the sound of boots thumping up to the porch. " We'll talk about this later, Esme." she promised.

Sam, Susan, and Matthew, Beatrice's husband, returned with joyous cries, two pails of fresh milk, and a load of firewood. After she had made sure Matthew was comfortably settled down in a cozy armchair, Beatrice dragged me to the kitchen to help her get dinner ready. I knew she was really hoping for some quiet time to discuss Charles again but the twins constantly popped in to check our progress.

_" I should have known...there were rumors..." _These puzzling words continued to scroll through my mind as I chopped potatoes and onions. How could she have known? All the time I've known Charles, he had never indicated in the tiniest degree to the public that he could be cruel, rude, or rough. He was always _so_ careful when there were others around. What rumors? I've certainly never heard anything negative about Charles Evenson. What could he have done? I shuddered, remembering the abuse I've suffered under his control. If there_ had_ been rumors circling around, why hadn't anyone warned me?

" Esme!"

I started out of my musing and realized I had almost chopped my finger off. Beatrice was staring at me incredulously. Shakily, I dumped the chopped vegetables into the stew and reached for another potato as if nothing had happened.

" Here, I'll take that. You sit down and rest." Beatrice firmly took the knife and potato from me, not meeting my eyes.

" I'm fine."

" Right. Next time don't mistake a thumb for a piece of potato."

" Bee!" She hated it when people called her " Bee".

" I'm sorry I'm worried about you!" exclaimed Beatrice sarcastically.

" FINE THEN!"

Sam and Susan skipped in happily, unaware of our little argument. " Mommy, how much longer will it be?"

Instantly Beatrice's former look of worry was smothered by a motherly smile. " Not for a while I'm afraid- maybe a quarter to six?"

" Aww...that's too long!" they whined in unison.

" Go ahead and play with your dolls then."

" But we've been doing that the whole day!"

" Well if you're that bored, help me clean up and set the table."

" Mmm..." They shared a look of silent agreement and nodded.

For the next half hour, I guided the twins in their attempt to clean up. I wished I hadn't told Beatrice about Charles. She and her husband shouldn't have to share my burden. Then again, how long would I have been able to keep it away from her? My cousin was a naturally inquisitive person and she would have squeezed it out of me anyway.

The stew was marvelous- each spoonful a savory dream. If my cooking had been as good as Beatrice's, would Charles have cared for me at all? I pushed the thought away. If I was going to rebuild my life all over again, it was imperitive that I leave the past behind.

I ate slowly, supervised the children getting into bed, and insisted on washing and drying all the dishes but the promised heart-to-heart could not be avoided.

I was forced to sit through Beatrice's passionate take on my disastrous marriage, Matthew stunned into silence. Oh, _why_ had I told Beatrice?!

She finished her narrating and we sat in an awkward silence. I sunk down lower in my armchair and stared at the fire.

" Why didn't you tell us Esme?" Matthew was sitting on the edge of his seat, feet flat on the floor, elbows on his knees, mouth slightly open in perplexity, eyes concerned.

" He reads all the letters I send out."

" During the war...?"

" Well, um, I..." I came up with nothing. Had I been afraid of Charles even thousands of miles away? Had I actually believed he could still hurt me at war? Abysmally, stupid me.

Beatrice came to me and curled a firm, reassuring arm around my shoulders, squeezing tight. " Then let's not talk about it any longer, " she murmured soothingly, " Come, I'll take you to your room." She pulled me up and grabbed my bulging travel bag.

" Good night Esme. See you in the morning."

" Good night Matthew."

The Browns' home was a two story farm property. It was small, with a strange layout, but homely and fitted with snug little corners into which one could easily fall asleep. Overall, a charming retreat of a home. The guest room was no exception. Baby blue wallpaper accentuated by pink roses created a comfortable background while the homemade quilts and feather pillows practically invited me into bed. A stout rosewood table stood inconspicuously at the other side of the room with a matching cushioned chair.

" Here you are, dear. I hope this will do. You've had a long day, huh?" She grinned sympathetically.

I dumped myself on the bed among the fluffy pillows and hugged one to my chest. " You have no idea."

" 'Night. "

" You too, and, _thank you_."

Beatrice left. I changed into my holey old pajamas and snuggled into the quilt folds. I had another long day tomorrow. My final destination? Unknown for now.

- - -

The peace I felt that night did not last.

The first things I felt the following morning were two vibrant, kicking, screaming, tangles of limbs tumbling about on my bed.

" Wake up! Wake up! Wake up Auntie!" The twins.

Then I caught a whiff of Beatrice's blueberry pancake. I HAD to get out of bed NOW.

Five minutes later, I was sitting at the kitchen table, devouring my share of blueberry pancake and bacon. My cousin made the best pancakes. Plus, the fact that the milk, blueberries, and bacon had all been freshly home grown proved how much better they were than the store-bought variety I used to get in Columbus. It was a taste of home.

After cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I excused myself so that I could pack up and dress for today's traveling. I wasn't exactly sure where I would go. Maybe farther north. I would make up my mind at the train station. Hopefully somewhere small and quiet. Where I could get an easy job at a school or daycare. A place where gossip wouldn't reach Columbus. The right place to raise my daughter.

I took out the same coat and boots from yesterday but pulled on an extra layer underneath. No good catching a cold with a baby on the way. My hair was impossible today so I just left it down in a swirl of caramel. When was the last time I had gone out with my hair down like this? Charles never approved of me leaving my hair down. Oh, it was fine for young girls but not for a mature, married woman. He would have thrown a fit if I'd gone and cut my hair to the fashionable new bob.

Finished with my preparations, I came out to say my goodbyes.

Beatrice was knitting when I walked into the family room. For a moment she just stared at me blankly, then- " You aren't leaving are you?"

" Your family isn't safe harboring an escaped convict." I'd intended that as a light joke but it seemed to have offended her.

" Esme, you _know_ that we would do whatever it takes to keep Charles away from you." said Beatrice quietly.

" But I don't want to put you in danger! Charles has his ways, and, he's probably contacted the police around here by now. I could never live with myself if you and your family were caught sheltering me."

" You've only just arrived though!"

" What if the police come here? Now?"

" They wouldn't. They don't have evidence." said Beatrice firmly.

I sighed. " I told you, Charles has ways around the law- the Evenson's are a wealthy family."

She changed the argument. " Well at least if you stay here, you'll be with family! Other than your parents, I'm your only family on this side of the United States. You can stay with us here and help run the farm with me."

" No-"

" Please? Nothing's happened yet..." Beatrice gave me her pouty, puppy-dog look and-

" Okayy then. But I'm only going to stay for another two days. We'll make this a little holiday visit." I could just relax and take it easy for these two days. Get ready for the big plunge into unknown territory.

" Yes! You'll stay!" Beatrice tackled me.

" Two days..." I gasped.

- - -

We spent the rest of the morning chatting and knitting in front of the fire. I knitted baby beanies and booties in cotton candy pink.

" Those are so cute! But, are you sure it's going to be a girl?"

" Positive. I just have this really great feeling. Even if it's a boy, pink is still the cutest color on babies." Hope, hope, hope.

" That's true." chuckled Beatrice. The phone rang impatiently. " I'll be back in a minute."

I examined her knitting. A dark green sweater for her husband. Every loop symmetrical. The yarn soft and warm and strong. Knitted with love. So perfect.

" Really?" _Her tone was cold._ " I haven't seen her at all..." _Who?_ " Is that so?" _Pause._ " Well thank you for telling me- bye." I heard the smash of the reciever onto its hook. The sound amplified many times by the finality of it all. Beatrice softly padded into the room- the look on her face was enough to confirm my suspicions. I covered my face with my hands.

" How did they find me?"

* * *

Wow! Longest chapter I've written so far! HOPE you enjoyed it :) Please review! 


	5. On the Move

**Author's Note**: Yo everybody.

**This is CHAPTER 5 not 4. **

So I wrote a nice author's note and posted it up as CH. 4. Then after everybody was done reading it, I switched it with my REAL Ch. 4. It's just a little pet peeve that I have...

This chapter and the next are probably a little boring. They're just to fill you in on how her life is living by herself.

CH. 5 and 6 were originally a monster mega 6 thousand worder but I chopped it in half and therefore, I'll be posting the 6th chapter **very soon**!!!

I **promise** you - OUR FAVORITE DOCTOR IS COMING SOON. Maybe in Chapter 7.

* * *

_Chapter 4 recap:_

_"Really?" Her tone was cold. _

_"I haven't seen her at all." Who?_

_"Is that so?" Pause._

_"Well thank you for telling me - bye." I heard the smash of the reciever onto its hook. The sound amplified many times by the finality of it all. Beatrice softly padded into the room- the look on her face was enough to confirm my suspicions. I covered my face in my hands._

_"How did they find me?"_

**- - -**

**A/N: Again, if that passage was unfamiliar to you, please go back and read Ch. 4**

**- - -**

Chapter 5- On the Move

* * *

We held each other miserably awhile, and shed new tears; however, there was no time to lose. Beatrice had said the police were already on the way here, and it would not be good for them if I was found in the house. I was grateful that I had already packed up this morning. Five minutes later, I was saying my goodbyes to Beatrice. 

"Won't you tell me where you are going?" said Beatrice sullenly.

"No, I don't even know where I'm heading to anyways. And even if I do, it's better if you don't know anything the police will want to know. I promise I'll write and visit on the holidays."

She sighed. "I'll go check if there's any sign of your little visit in the house. Just sit tight and watch for the taxi."

I idly picked out a piece of corn bread and popped it into my mouth. Beatrice had insisted on supplying me with a package of cornbread muffins, blueberry jam, buttermilk biscuits, and butter cookies. God bless her. Then something outside the window caught my eye. It was obscured by the yellow curtains but I thought it was a car.

"Beatrice! The taxi's here." I heard my cousin hurrying into the room. Picking up my hat, I stood up and that's when the automobile rolled into full view. It wasn't the taxi.

It was the police car.

I heard Beatrice dragging something around behind me. She had pulled a rug aside to reveal a trapdoor. She pulled it up swiftly and beckoned to me.

"Get down there Esme!" she hissed.

I dived into the black hole. My bag was thrown in after me, the trapdoor shut, and it was so uncomfortably musty and dark in the basement. I could feel tall objects and shelves crowded around me claustrophobically so I carefully curled into a ball, hugging my knees, lest I knock something over and alert the police of my presence. A few seconds later, there were the sound of heavy boots coming up the stairs, onto the porch, and into the house. I heard two deep, men's timbres and also Beatrice's melodic voice. The words were indiscernible, muffled by the floorboards.

The floorboards squeaked under their weight as they searched the house. Sometimes, they were right above me and my heart would stop ― certain that the trapdoor was discovered and that I would be dragged all the way back to Charles. I'd have to tell him about my daughter then, and pay the price for deceiving my husband. I would be back where I'd started. My little stint out in the wilderness…all for nothing.

I wished I had been born plain, and squinty-eyed, with dry, frizzled hair to the roots. Instead, I get a fair complexion, lively gray eyes and rich candy-hair, both of which just happen to draw Charles Evenson to me like a magnet. To him, they must scream, "_Look_ at me! You want _me_! _Take_ me!" Even now, he pursues me.

After an eternity of listening to my own heart hammering away in my chest, I heard them nearing the front door. It opened, closed, the boots were going down the stairs and finally, leaving! I let my arms loosen from their clamp around my knees and stretched my legs, promptly knocking over a garden rake…which knocked over a broom and a few metal buckets deafeningly.

A sudden wave of light washed over me.

"Wow Esme. What did you do now?" Beatrice's small frame kneeled at the edge of the trapdoor.

I squinted up at her. A sheepish grin crossed my face. The immediate danger had passed and for now, I was safe.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought the police might have heard the crash…" grumbled Beatrice.

"Well they didn't did they? That was a _really_ close call." I dusted off myself and straightened up the broom, rake, and buckets. Then I grabbed my bag and hurried out of the basement.

The taxi came only a few minutes after the police had left. I hugged them each tightly, one last time: Beatrice, Sam, and Susan ( Matthew was out at the farm working). My taxi driver was getting impatient though, he kept on clicking his tongue, and I couldn't put off my departure any longer. I stepped into the taxi and was about to close the door when I heard Beatrice:

"Wait! Esme, you forgot your knitting!" She ran indoors and emerged a few seconds later with something pink and fluffy in her hand. Beatrice gave them to me through the rolled-down window. I fingered the soft baby beanie and booties carefully. She had also given me a ball of pink yarn.

"_Thank you_," I said earnestly, "I can't believe I forgot them in there. Hope will have something beautiful and warm to wear when she is born," I murmured. "Goodbye, Beatrice, I'll miss you."

"Goodbye, Esme darling. Please visit as soon as you can, and, if you _ever_ need anything, don't hesitate to ask us." Beatrice watched me with shiny, tear-filled gray eyes as I rolled up the window and motioned the driver to drive.

I waved to my cousin through the back window until the old farm house passed out of sight. Why did Charles just have to ruin everything? My life had been pleasant enough before I'd met him. Repetitive, dull, but at least _livable_. A few years ago, I could never have imagined myself in this mess: running away from my husband (what kind of husband beats his wife?), running away from my family (what kind of parents let their son-in-law beat their daughter?), running away from home (what kind of home is it when there's a wild, sadistic husband waiting for you every night?), and doing all this for the sake of my unborn daughter ― the baby I had loved since the discovery of her existence ― the fact that she was mine, alone, justified my rebellion. I let out a heavy sigh and settled into my seat. Might as well rest while I could.

"Miss? We're at the train station."

I blinked groggily and handed him the cab fee. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, have a nice trip." He smiled pleasantly at me and drove away, looking for another customer, after I'd exited his cab.

The Milwaukee train station was pretty busy today. Relatives and friends were already leaving for home. There was a sign right behind the sliding glass doors. Departures and arrivals were both posted on the sign. I looked through the destinations: Minneapolis, Chicago, St. Luis, Indianapolis, Springfield, Rochester…all too expensive and conspicuous. I was looking for somewhere low-key and unnoticeable ― ooh, Ashland? According to the map (it barely even showed up there), Ashland was on the shore of Lake Superior, far up north, about a seven-hour ride. It was a small town in a rural area near few large roads and cities. The nearest departure time was at 1:15, half an hour from now. I strolled through the large train station in search of platform 5.

The long train ride was monotonous. I had moved into an empty compartment near the head of the train. It was a rather bland space; furnished with plain, beige seats and a dull, green floor. I wished I'd brought a book or something to preoccupy my mind. The surrounding landscape didn't help either ― I watched as the sun sunk lower and lower until it finally disappeared into the endless snow. Looking through the window, I noticed that the further north we went, human population seemed to decrease. I simply couldn't keep my eyelids up.

Several hours later, I was hailing a cab buggy (This tiny town still used horse-drawn buggies!) from the train station. At least, what the tiny town of Ashland _calls_ a train station. The Ashland train station basically consists of a miniature parking lot, one train platform, and a little cabin containing the waiting room, restrooms, and the office. I was one of the three who had gotten off at this stop.

My driver took me to the nearest inn. I would start rebuilding my life the next day.

"Do you know if there are any decent apartments nearby?"

The young lady at the lobby desk looked up from her novel and smiled pleasantly at me. "What are you looking for?"

"Something comfortable, easily affordable, close to restaurants and groceries…size doesn't matter to me."

The girl's nametag read "Elaine." She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I don't know too much about apartments but there's a nice family-run boarding house near the lake…that's if you don't mind living under the same roof with another family."

"How nice is nice?" Cheaper boarding-houses tend to be tacky and uncomfortable.

"Oh, they get fabulous reviews and they're always booked during the busy seasons. They also have long-term plans for those who want to stay for a month or longer. I've met the family. The Bakers are very friendly people."

Hmm. That sounded pretty nice then. "What's the name of the place?"

"Lakeview Lodge. Here, I'll show you where it is on your map." Elaine drew an "X" on an Ashland map and drew the quickest route there with a red pencil. She was very helpful.

I gathered together my things and smiled graciously at the girl. "Thank you for your help, Elaine."

"You're welcome, have a nice day! Oh, and by the way, I _love_ your hair."

"Thanks!" I left the Superior Inn in a giddy state. I haven't been given a compliment like that in a long time. My candy-colored hair was currently worn down, left free to billow out in waves. There was a strange satisfaction in defying Charles.

I took a buggy to the Lakeview Lodge. Oh boy, did the horses reek! After so many years away from the farm, I was unused to farm animal stench. We rode over the little winter wonderland of snowy slopes and small hills sparkling in the morning sunlight. Naked silver birch, black ash, oak, and maple trees dotted the whiteness. The air was as clear as Charles' imported crystal goblet, and crisp, fresh, wholesome to the soul. I breathed it all in gladly but when the Lakeview Lodge came into view, all the air in my lungs came out in a gasp.

W_hoosh. _

At the bottom of the hill was the famous Lake Superior, sparkling under the rising sun. And a little way down the slope was the cutest, coziest, little chalet I have ever seen in my life. It was nestled into the snow like a Christmas tree waiting for presents and even as I watched, puffs of smoke trailed out of the minute chimney. The sloped roof was covered with a generous blanket of untouched snow; I desperately wanted to stick on giant gumdrops and licorice pieces.

"That's Lakeview Lodge over there yonder," my driver said proudly.

"It does look wonderful."

He nodded admiringly. "Oh yes, miss, I've spent a night there myself ― the mornings are the best, seeing the sun rising over the Lake Superior…and Lisa's famed cinnamon buns first thing in the morning over a hot cup of coffee…the best."

We arrived in front of the Lakeview Lodge and he stopped the horse.

I hopped off the buggy, careful not to dirty my dress on the wheels. "Thank you. I'll be back out in a few minutes."

The windows and door were white. A Christmas wreath with red bows still hung on the front door and there were mistletoe bunches hanging behind the rectangular windows. The larger windows facing the lake and the south were triangular. A porch wrapped around halfway of the second story. I pressed the small, brass doorbell and heard the faint ring resounding indoors.

"Good morning, miss. What can I do for you?" A handsome, sturdy-looking woman appeared at the doorway. I judged her age to be in the mid 30s ― she was clearly a housewife; she wore her chocolate hair pinned up in a messy bun and a white apron protected her dress from the daily work grime. With her grim smile and crossed arms, she was intimidating.

"Hi, um, you take boarders here right?" I asked hesitantly.

She widened her eyes and gave me an amiable ear-to-ear grin, it was like a sudden stream of sunlight breaking out from the layer of dark clouds. "Sure we do! Come in, please! Welcome to the Lakeview Lodge," she looked over my shoulder, "Oh! Hello there, Amos." The buggy driver tipped his hat.

I stepped into the warm living room, brilliantly lit by numerous windows. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, a few sofas and armchairs covered with home-knit throws and rugs, small wood figurines scattered here and there, family pictures along with the figurines, everything neat ― but not scary-neat: altogether, a most comfortable living room, but the _smell_, the smell of the place was amazing.

It was a wholesome smell, as if someone had managed to take everything in the food pyramid and combine them into one, complete unit. And it was alive, too. Like all the good memories of a perfect year ― savory Christmas hams, picking strawberries, warm-cinnamon mornings, summer roses, apple pies, the fruitful fall harvest, spice, and sugar, and love.

"You can call me Lisa. I'm sorry I was a bit cold to you outside…I thought you were some snobby saleslady. A pretty, young thing like you wanting to rent a room here all by yourself?"

I nodded eagerly. "I'm Esme. Someone mentioned you can carry long-term boarders?"

"We rent by days, weeks, or months. You may stay as long as you want, but since the rooms are each unique, and I want to allow every customer a chance at each type of room, we have long-term boarders switch rooms every month. There's a discount for long-term boarders, of course."

"Name your prices."

There were five rooms available for rent. Two rentable rooms were on the second floor and another three in the top floor. Their prices were remarkably low so I decided to switch between the two master bedrooms each month. Both were currently unavailable until two days from now.

I had Amos drive me to the Ashland bank in town. During the ride, I inhaled a bit of Beatrice's cornbread and biscuits for lunch. I gave my driver some muffin as well.

The bank was the small ― like everything else in Ashland ― and the women at the counter were all old, plump, sitting ducks. They had been deep in conversation when I entered the bank and when I asked for assistance, the roundest, loudest one approached me with a glimmer of gossipy expectation in her eyes. I expect the population of the little town of Ashland was so infinitesimal, every new member was a choice topic of gossip.

In fact, the first three words out of her mouth happened to be: "You new here?"

"Yes." I could feel the gaze of three pairs of beady eyes on me. The intense scrutiny was making me very uncomfortable.

"What's your name?"

"Esme Ev-Platt. Esme Platt."

She tilted her face to one side, thinking. "Are you staying with family?"

"No, I'm not here for the holidays."

"Then where are you living at?" She spoke quickly, throwing her words out at me.

"I'm boarding at the Lakeview Lodge for now, just until I've got a steady income." I sighed rather pointedly.

Fortunately, the woman got my point and I was able to set up a fresh, new account. When I took out the wad of cash (two years' worth teaching money) from my purse, her eyes bulged, like a frog's.

"You don't have a husband?" What was with her interrogating?

"No," I sighed, then inspiration hit me…"he-he passed away quite recently, bless his soul!" I conjured up some tears and lifted my face, peering at her with shiny, wide eyes. It worked.

"You poor baby!" cried the woman. She leaned across the desk and patted my hand.

I sniffed and wiped away a few tears daintily. "After the war, Charles' doctor told us his heart had been weakened by the stress and the constant fighting. One day, he had a heart-attack while he was out working, and-and there was nothing anyone could do!"

"Terrible!"

"Actually, Charles was strong enough to leave me with a small part of himself ―" I smiled weakly, "He left me with a _darling_ baby…"

"You're with child?!"

Without a doubt, I would be the talk of the town by the end of today.

But hey, I've just cleared up my past history _and_ the fact that I'm pregnant.

The next day, I had Amos take me to the Ashland schools. There were two schools in Ashland ― one elementary and one middle school. They were right across the street from each other and I imagine it is common to see little boys and girls ogling at their superiors in middle school through the windows.

The principals were very kind but there were no positions open, even for summer school. I was welcome to sub in when any teacher called in sick, however. So my dream-job here is nonexistent, but I intend to look for work in town soon. For now, I had enough saved up from teaching at Columbus to last a while. However, there aren't many other substantially-paid jobs I can take. All I've ever done is teach; my education limits me to that. I may need to work many hours each week in order to survive.

My first night in the Bakers' home was very comfortable, but it reminded me of my other life ― the life where I had Mother holding my hand with every step I took. The life I had before my teenage years. Homemade quilts and rugs, enticing smells coming from the kitchen 24/7, the feeling of contentment filling every corner ― I found myself wishing I could hop into a machine and travel right back to a time when I didn't have to worry about being a lady, worry about having babies, worry about earning my own keep…to a time when I had been young and naïve, worrying only about the daily chores.

What had gone wrong? Just barely thirteen and suddenly:

No climbing trees.

No reading books.

No mud fights with the neighboring farm boys.

No slacks, jeans, or overalls.

Dresses, dresses, dresses.

Sewing, knitting, embroidering.

Cooking, cleaning, chores, chores, CHORES.

It's a wonder I'm still alive today.

The following morning, Lisa Baker introduced me to her family.

There was Mr. Thomas Baker, a tall, cheerful man with the widest smile I have ever seen.

The eldest son, Scott Baker, was twelve years old. I felt the superiority rolling off him in waves as he ordered his younger siblings around shamelessly. Scott has carved almost every one of those wooden figurines in the house.

Turner was ten. He's the bookworm of the family. He had a thick, moth-eaten volume under his nose over his cinnamon bun.

Maddie was the youngest at a tender seven years of age. She still had an adorable lisp. Her baby voice and beatific looks clashed bizarrely with her tomboyish behavior.

"So now you've met my little angels. They're…"

"That wath my beth-t_ hair ribbon _you idiot." Turner flew by with Maddie hot on his tail.

"…a handful at times, but you'll…"

There was a crash from the den. "Scott! Getter off me!"

"Thut up! Thcott, he th-tole my hair ribbon and glued it onto one of hith th-tupid bookmarkth."

"…get used to them in time."

Scott strolled through the dining room and disappeared into the den, a grimace on his face. The living room was silent.

Lisa rolled her eyes. "That one usually takes care of the younger two. I'm a bit worried he's getting too used to his authority…Anyway, Thomas is going to his shop in town. You're welcome to ride down with him and look for a job there."

"Thanks, but I was also thinking about being a teacher. Are there any other schools nearby, other than the Ashland elementary and middle schools?" I was not giving up my preordained job without a fight.

"There's a little school in the Edgewood community, east of here. It's not too far away. But when I say it's small, it's _tiny_. Maybe 20 students in the whole school. Only one classroom, actually." Lisa said.

Optimism rushed through me. "Alright. A teeny school's better than no school at all."

By the end of the day, I was the new waitress at one of the popular restaurants in Ashland _and_ the Edgewood community's summer school-miss.

Getting the post as waitress was easy. One glance and I was in, no questions asked. After bagging that job, I decided to just take a peek at the Edgewood school. Turned out, their current teacher was moving once the school year ended, and I had come right on time.

That night, I finally felt safe. I had my future planned out, waitress, teacher, and baby. My most stressed-out muscle finally loosened and relaxed ― my brain.

* * *

Wow! You survived that! Please hang on for Ch. 6 and 7!! 

Review in the meanwhile : Please alert me of any grammar or spelling mistakes and whatnot.

Thank you all!


	6. Copper Falls

Hola mi amigos! Chapter 6 update as promised last week! Short chapter but I warn you that this is the calm before the storm :

It's also time to honor my reviewers!

1st Reviewer goes to: **epona04** (yay!!)

Most Reviews goes to: **bella-loves-edward** _and_ **NellieGURL** (hooray!!)

Most Enthusiastic goes to: **ROCKNROLLFANATIC** (wheeee!!), and no, I did not do all-caps because it's the most enthusiastic award, **ROCKNROLLFANATIC** just happens to be in all caps.

Most Flattering goes to: **TexMex** _and_ **kuroxdoragon** (yipee!!)

And of course, everyone who's been reviewing this story of mine! I'm not listing _everyone_ up here because I feel it takes away from the pride at having your name mentioned when there's about 20 more other names up there as well.

Thank you and keep up the reviews and support, you all make me very happy!

* * *

Ch. 6 Copper Falls

* * *

"So this is a kind of picnic?" Scott asked. 

"Yes. This little excursion gives my class a chance to learn about Ashland's plant life, the geographical formations, and it's also a nice break from their classes." It was my idea, this field trip. I had overheard Elle, a fellow waitress telling her friend about her weekend camping trip. The way she described the place…it sounded unbelievable.

It was an area farther inland with gorgeous waterfalls, towering red cliffs, and deep gorges. The plant life would be in full bloom now, it was already the last week of June, and the children were bound to enjoy themselves exploring. There was no name for this area, but it was popular among the locals.

"Let's tie our horses down here. We have a bit of a hike ahead of us."

Lisa Baker faltered and glanced at my stomach. "You shouldn't over-exert yourself, Esme. Let's ride farther out." I was six months pregnant now, and I had an obvious baby bump on my stomach.

"I'll be fine. It's only a half hour walk. Elle assured me it was an easy hike." Lisa nodded reluctantly and I called to the others. "We're stopping here!"

The three carriages slowed down and turned into a spot at the side of the road. I stepped out and looked around. Trees were everywhere. Green was everywhere. Myriad sounds of life ― squirrels chattering amongst themselves, soft patters of movement behind the bushes and shrubs, chickadees twittering in the distance ― permeated the atmosphere. Around me, the horses snorted and stamped their hooves, and the children giggled and spoke to each other. Still, our very presence was intrusive to the quiet peace.

"It's so good to be back!" Elle murmured. She had agreed to come as our guide. "And there's the trail!"

Barely visible between the leafy ferns and small white wildflowers was a faint dirt trail. It disappeared into the green wilderness between birch, hemlock, aspen, and white pine trees soaring above our heads.

As we proceeded inwards, the lofty forest shielded us from the brilliant summer sun. The trail wove between immense trees and dense foliage like a thin, brown snake. Our skin glowed softly, bathed in an eerie green light. We all spoke in hushed whispers, afraid to disturb the exquisite beauty. I had the children collect plant life samples like bark, leaves, mosses, and flowers.

Several times, we crossed shallow streams. We filled our canteens with the pristine, ice-cold water gurgling by. It was delicious, the best water I'd ever tasted. Mini cascades poured into pools from level to level. The boys found a glistening black-and-yellow salamander under a mossy rock. Leggy, spider-like water striders glided away from the children across rippling glass. The parents were enjoying themselves as well. I hid a smug grin ― it had taken extensive wheedling to persuade them to come.

We continued the hike.

As we advanced uphill, I began to see some reddish stone peeking out of the ground. The cheerful babbling of the stream gradually swelled to a thundering roar.

"We're almost there!" Elle cried.

Every child and adult alike began to take larger, quicker strides. We could hear the rumbling water, just several yards away, but the trail slithered on relentlessly through emerald walls. Elle pranced away ahead of us, all bouncing auburn curls.

"_Wow_."

There was no warning. No thinning of trees. No mounting light at the end of the trail. We were jogging eagerly through confining ferns and Wisconsin forest, chasing after Elle, who'd just disappeared around a corner, and then…

Boom.

We stood, blinking, confused, then astonished. A colossal waterfall was raging in front of us. Coppery, frothy water slipped over the edge, and fell down over 100 feet. The river beneath us churned and roiled, the reddish-brown color of the foam matching the rugged cliffs. A few scraggly spruces clung onto the edges desperately. The mothers grabbed their children and steered them away from the edge.

I turned to Elle. "This is amazing! I owe you one, Elle."

She beamed at me. "I told you it was glorious. But I'm just glad to help. Do you want to have lunch up here or down next to the river?"

"Let's eat up here. I don't want to waste all that hiking." I feasted my eyes on the magnificent coppery waters.

They smoothed out several blankets out in the warmth of the sunlight and I gently eased myself down on top with a sigh. We unloaded our packed picnic baskets, revealing sandwiches, cupcakes, fruits, salads, cheeses, and fruit juice. I attacked the food ― getting pregnant makes you hungry ALL the time. After I finished eating my lunch, I took out a bag of chocolates from my purse ― pregnant people also tend to have a fierce craving for chocolate.

Lisa crawled over to me with a basket of her cinnamon rolls. She smiled knowingly as I licked off the remnants of a chocolate truffle from my fingers. "Would you like a cinnamon roll?"

"Thank you, but I'm full. I'm probably gaining ten pounds from the chocolate as I speak." She chuckled.

"How are you holding up so far? Is this starting to scare you at all? You know, she's due in September!"

"I'm just so glad to be able to get out and breathe some fresh air while I can." I laid down on my back into a more comfortable position. "It's unbelievable. Sometimes I just sit down and try to imagine what it's going to be like, trying to take care of a little girl. I'll need to help her bathe, and I could help her on her homework, and pack her lunches ―" I winced and curled up slightly, holding my stomach.

Lisa was frantic. "Esme! Are you alright? Oh, I _knew_ this hike was a bad idea…Someone help me take her to the buggies!_ Esme's going to have a miscarriage!_" she wailed.

I laid back down quickly. "No, no, I'm alright. No need, really. She just kicked a bit, that's all."

"Are you sure?" Thomas asked. Everyone had crowded around me at the sound of Lisa's anxious cry, ready to whisk me off to the hospital.

"Yes. I'm fine." I smiled, waving them off. "Now go on and enjoy the picnic! I'm fine. I'm not having my baby yet." They shook their heads, smiling, as they dispersed.

"My dear, please don't scare me like that again! I almost had a heart attack!" Lisa puffed and fanned herself with her hat.

I laughed. "Don't worry so much. You're as jumpy as a rabbit." I leaned in slyly. "Due to the boxing rounds in my stomach, I'm betting Hope will be a match for Maddie, a natural fighter."

Lisa grinned deviously. "Don't bet on that. My Maddie is as strong as an ox!"

I rolled my eyes. "We'll see, eh?"

"We'll see."

I was getting drowsy. The summer sun doused me in an invitingly warm, golden bath. There were no clouds, only the wide, open expanse of the eternally blue sky. The brilliancy of pure sunlight contrasted sharply with the cool, green wall of trees.

Faintly, I heard her speak again. "Don't get too used to your easy, lazy maternity life, now."

"Uh-huh. Sure." She continued, chuckling.

"I promise you, from the moment your baby comes out into the world, you're going to be busy every minute of the day," she murmured thoughtfully, "Not that it won't be interesting. The years seem to fly by after your first child…"

I _MmHmm-ed _vaguely.

We settled into a comfortable silence.

I closed my eyes dreamily and tried to sketch a rough picture of what Hope was going to look like. It was difficult. Would she look more like her father or myself? Would she inherit my gray eyes or her father's intense, dark chocolate ones? After a few minutes, I simply gave up and soaked in the sun.

* * *

Review if you've found a critical mistake or if you're just a sweetie. 


	7. Baby Blues

**A/N:** Yay! Finally we get over the set-up parts of Esme's story and we're onto the exciting parts!! Enjoy! And thank you all who've read and reviewed...don't forget to review this one!!

I'd like a little help choosing the genres for this story:

**Supernatural**: Vampires! But the first few chapters are more on Esme's _human_ background so...

or...

**Romance**: You know..._Esme & Carlisle_...though the first few chapters don't have that much about the two.

or...

**Drama**: Um, the whole...meeting vampires, running away from home, getting a baby...etc.?

...Pick two of the above :)

* * *

_**Ch. 7: Baby Blues**_

_September 7th, 1920..._

A flurry of movement, all around me. A funny, sterile smell in my nostrils. A bright light that hurt my eyes unless I squished them shut. And what was it? That jarringly strange, aching sensation…er…down under?

"Esme, stay with me, you've got to push just a little more. You need to deliver the placenta now."

The baby! A refreshing round of delight washed over my whole being, despite the pain. I must have blacked out for a moment. Obediently, I pushed, squeezed, feeling something starting to slide out of me…

- - -

"Congratulations Miss Platt!" said the doctor. He beamed at me and stepped aside to let a nurse inside the cramped room.

I felt someone wiping my forehead with a moistened cloth. It felt cool and very comfortable on my sweaty brow. I was sore and awfully spent from the labor. I also felt amazingly lighter, like I was missing a significant body part. Lisa squeezed my hand as she continued to wipe my forehead and neck.

"You did wonderfully, dear. You'll feel better soon. I can make chicken noodle soup for you once we get home." She said, smiling proudly at me.

"Okay." I mumbled gratefully.

Then the nurse gently placed something into my arms and instantly, my whole world fixated on the baby angel swaddled in pink cloth.

She was so beautiful. Truly simple, pure, and lovely. Admittedly, my newborn Hope Beatrice Platt had a strangely shaped head, a little conical and too big for her body, and she did have somewhat red skin, but I loved her. Tears leaked out of my eyes as I remembered all the sacrifices and hard work that had led me here: leaving Charles, Mother, and Beatrice, working as a waitress and a teacher at the same time, long 17-hour days. On this Sunday, September 7, 1920, this tiny armful of joy was finally mine, all mine.

I kissed her fuzzy head and fingered her chubby hands and feet. A giddy smile pulled at the corners at my mouth when Hope curled her tiny fingers around my thumb and grasped it firmly. It was her basic grasp reflex, but the simple action made me feel needed and wanted. She was warm and new and so very much _alive_.

I marveled at each of her delicate fingers. There were soft dimples at her plump knuckles. Baby fat rolled and folded over at various parts of her body. Her youthful skin was smooth and supple ― almost translucent at some areas. Her eyes were still squinty slits but between the tiny lashes, I could see a hint of sapphire-gray orbs. Blue? I've heard that many newborn infants had blue eyes at first that changed color in time. She was perfect, yet fragile, easily breakable.

"Don't worry, the skin color clears and the slight cone-head smoothes out in a few days. Other than that, she's a beautiful girl." Lisa whispered, trying not to startle the baby.

"I wouldn't care if she had a star shaped head or skin the color of moss," I murmured, rubbing circles on the back of Hope's hands, "She's here at last!" I leaned down to my newborn daughter and whispered, "You've kept us all waiting for _nine months_!"

- - -

The Bakers were immeasurably thoughtful and kind towards all of Hope's needs. Scott, Turner, and Maddie would all compete for the honor of fetching a blanket for the baby, or getting some warm water ready for the baby's bath. Just mention the words "for the baby" and I could see them visibly perk up at the thought. They cooed, fawning over Hope's button nose, and giggled when she hiccupped or burped without warning.

"I think she's gonna look like you." Scott said musingly.

Little Hope slept in her crib in my rented room. Surprisingly, she was not much trouble the first night home. She had a wailing fit only once that night. When I heard her telltale wail-and-hiccup cries, I would hop out of bed eagerly and cradle her in my arms, humming my own childhood lullabies while I rubbed her tiny back rhythmically. I've heard mothers complaining about being up all night nursing their bawling babes, but for me, this was an excuse to marvel at my own creation. Every child is a miracle, a wonder.

The next morning, Hope had short coughing bouts. She started hiccupping innocently, but those turned into coughs, and her nose started to run. I nursed her and rubbed her small back, hoping it would pass. The first day back and I was already tending for Hope's first cold. It should be over in another five days or so.

Come evening, Hope's cold worsened. She was coughing more frequently now, accompanied by some wheezing. After each round of coughing, her tiny chest heaved up and down with her labored breathing. It was only a simple, pesky, little cold but her awkward breathing had me worried.

Lisa placed a hand gently on Hope's brow. She frowned. "She's running a little too hot. We need to see the doctor."

I bundled her up, although it was a warm summer evening, and took her to the waiting buggy. Thomas was in town at work, so it was Amos, the cab driver, who tipped his hat and praised my new child heartily. Hope stared up with sapphire fairy-eyes at the tall, smiling gentleman looking down at her…and burped.

The cab driver laughed, amused. "Your daughter will be one irresistible charmer in a few years, Esme. I do feel sorry for those young boys she'll be seeing in school."

Amos helped us into the buggy and handed me my baby carefully, then climbed in himself, smiling genially the whole time. But when the horses began to trot, Hope started to cry, plainly uncomfortable riding the bumpy dirt roads. _Only a cold. A simple cold. Only a cold. _I repeated the words in my mind like a mantra. I hummed to her soothingly, the family lullaby for her ears only. She began to cough again.

- - -

"She has respiratory cyncytial virus, RSV," said the doctor calmly, "Her condition is mild right now and she should be fine in another week. However, if she does get any worse, bring her back immediately. RSV can eventually lead to pneumonia or bronchiolitis, " he warned.

_Just a cold, a simple cold. _"What can I do to help her?" I asked.

"It's a virus, so there is no real remedy, but you can make her as comfortable as possible, so that her immune system can fight effectively. Give her plenty of fluids to keep her hydrated. Fold a towel beneath her head in the crib. Don't use a pillow! Elevating her head can help her breathe. If she has any trouble breathing, you can put several drops of saline solution into her nose and suction out the mucus with a bulb syringe." He stood up.

"Thank you, doctor. You've been very helpful," I paused nervously, "She'll be fine you said? In a week?"

"Yes, I'm sure she will, Miss Platt. This virus is very common and for most, it's no graver than a cold. "

- - -

The following day was much like yesterday. Lisa helped me care for Hope, putting the bulb syringe to use whenever she had trouble breathing, and keeping her towel moist and cool for the fever. I was reminded of my mother's housekeeping lessons back when I lived on the farm. I hadn't improved much on my responsibility and I was lucky to have Lisa, a veteran mother, aiding me and giving directions. Hope still coughed but she was no worse. Nor better. We were optimistic. The good doctor had said that she would be fine in a few days, therefore, Hope would recover.

Wednesday night, or rather, Thursday morning, I awoke to the most frightening sounds I've heard in the recent months. Great, hacking coughs choked out from the white crib by my bed. These coughs were different from the others ― harsher, louder, raw sounds of pain ― definitelynot the common cold. Hope was also crying fitfully, almost angrily.

As if the sound of her coughing hadn't been startling enough, the pitiful sight of my daughter took me to near hysterics. She was a frowning, squirming ball of tight fists and curled toes clutching at the blankets. Hope had vomited all over herself and some of it had gotten onto the mattress while she writhed under the coughs. The folded towel beneath her head was exceedingly warm to my touch. She scowled, contorting her delicate brows as she cried. Hope's discomfort had caused the usually pale skin of her cheeks and neck to become horribly blotchy and inflamed ― my poor baby was burning up inside.

Numb hands shaking uncontrollably, I undressed her promptly and cleaned up the foamy, white vomit all over her face. Her coughs would not subside and she was forced to gasp and wheeze for air whenever she had a few seconds between coughs. I tried to nurse her, but she wouldn't suckle from my breast, turning her face away from my nipple. Those sapphire eyes opened wide and met mine in wonder. Over the past four days, Hope's skin had cleared to a creamy, pale color, the puffiness of her eyes had diminished, and her head had lost its newborn cone-like shape. She was a blue-eyed cherub. Yet, this was all wrong. Hope's baby loveliness, her surface features, was tainted by the fact that she was very, very sick inside.

- - -

"She has bacterial pneumonia. I'm afraid we'll need to take her in," said the doctor.

It was late summer, for crying out loud! A baby had no right getting severely sick at a time like this! Summer was the sunny season of freedom and light-hearted water games. Not this. The doctor had taken an X-ray of Hope's lungs, and a test of the fluid from her nose ― the result was a bad bacterial pneumonia. Some of the air sacs in her lungs were filled with fluid ― that attributed to her rapid, irregular breathing. I had begun to chew my fingernails again, an annoying childhood habit that had taken years to break; it was a sure sign of my distress. What had happened to those lazy, mother-baby bonding days that I had visualized before?

The hospital attendants provided her with antibiotics and special treatment. A young nurse clipped a pulse oximetry sensor onto Hope's finger, to help monitor her blood oxygen level. She was laying in a clear box with circles in the sides so that the nurses could care for her. It was warm and a bit humid inside the box, so that she could breath easier. I couldn't tell if it was working or not. I stayed by her side until late night, when the Bakers came to take me home.

"It's just a pneumonia, Esme. Turner had it when he was a baby and look at him now!" Lisa said.

"I'd like to stay with her." I insisted.

"Not overnight. You need your rest, now come. We can bring you back here tomorrow morning." Persuaded by Lisa's cajoling, I allowed them to drag me back to the Lakeview Lodge.

After I had eaten and washed for bed, Lisa came into my room with an indiscernible look on her face. She sat down on the bed next to me.

"Esme, you're worrying too much."

I didn't say anything. My sick baby was all alone in her little plastic box at the hospital. I thought of the monotonous beeps from her sensor, the boring white of the cold walls, the sensible nurses wearing identical infirmary garbs…

"Since this morning, you've been real quiet and distracted."

She waited for me to say something. Anything. But I was silent.

"It's pitiful," she continued cuttingly, "In one day, one pneumonia bout, you've become someone else, you're not our Esme anymore."

I unbuttoned my mouth long enough to say, "But Hope's illness is enough to keep her in the hospital, and she hardly even ate today!" I was surprised at the sand-paper quality of my voice. I swallowed uneasily and rubbed my throat with stiff fingers.

Lisa's voice softened. "Look at you, you have been moping around in this room ever since we got back." I looked at my hands, curled on my lap. "We're worried about you. I don't want to lose you."

"I'm sorry." I mumbled.

"Don't be. I know you're concerned about your daughter, but there is nothing to worry about." She squeezed my hands kindly. "Half the people I know have had pneumonia as children. I'm sure Hope will be positively glowing in another week."

Was I really worrying too much about my baby? Would everything be fine ― like everyone's been telling me recently? I certainly hoped so.

- - -

On Friday morning, Thomas Baker took me to the hospital so that I could watch over Hope. She wasn't doing well. I've tried to breastfeed her again but she wouldn't be fed. The nurses have added an IV feed to supply her with fluids, nourishment, and antibiotics. There was nothing I could do but to stay by her side. Every hour or so, a nurse would come in and suction out any bothersome mucus from Hope's nose. They also made notes on her blood oxygen levels and conditions on a clipboard. Around midday, Hope was given an oxygen mask since the humidity in the box wasn't enough to ease her breathing any longer.

The Bakers watched her with me. We didn't speak very much. The only sounds in the room were the beeping of the pulse oximetry sensor and the steady _drip, drip_ of her IV feed. When the nurses occasionally came in, they would smile sympathetically at us and try to cheer us up.

I didn't resist when it was time to go home. Maybe if I went along with them and pretended that nothing was amiss…Maybe, this would all go away the next morning.

On Saturday, there was nothing that could ease Hope's coughing and discomfort. Her fever was a sizzling 102.7 °F. Her nails and lips took on a bluish tinge from the lack of oxygen and her chest sunk in with each breath. She seemed feeble and weak, barely stirring. Hope had been energetic, always crawling, gurgling, and watching the world around her with wonder ― before her illness took on.

I interrogated the nurse who came to check up on Hope. "Isn't there anything else you can do?"

She added another note to her clipboard. "We're giving her as much of the antibiotics she can handle and I'm coming in regularly to keep her as comfortable as I can."

"But she's not getting better; she's getting worse!" I exclaimed, barely noting the shrill tone of my voice.

The nurse smiled sadly at me. "We're doing the best we can, miss. But the rest is up to her."

The doctor came a few minutes later. He looked at me apprehensively before speaking. "You asked for me?"

"About my daughter ― how is she doing?"

"She's not doing very well, as you can see. She has a very high fever, for a newborn, she's not breathing properly either, and the coughing―" I interrupted him recklessly.

"Tell me the simple truth, doctor. Will she…live?" The words tumbled out bluntly without warning. _Will she live?_ I only now realized that the question had been on my mind lately. A malevolent, festering weed of a question.

He winced slightly and sighed. "I am afraid that Hope's chances of surviving are very remote right now. Even for a newborn, her immune system was never very strong. I'm sorry." The doctor patted my hand awkwardly. "The best anyone can do right now is to pray for her."

Hope steadily grew worse as the day progressed. She coughed and vomited so much she could barely sleep. She cried sometimes, her face becoming an alarming cherry-purple. Nurses came in more frequently ― the pulse oximetry sensor on her finger becoming unstable. A tube replaced the oxygen mask as it no longer gave her enough oxygen.

I watched helplessly as pneumonia quickly attacked and destroyed my newborn baby daughter. I had never felt so powerless in all my twenty-six years. Of course, I prayed, prayed for a miracle ― a sudden recovery, a complete turnaround. I prayed to God to let me keep the daughter he had so graciously given me.

Even now, feeble and pale, tangled in a web of IV tubes and feeds, Hope was beautiful. Never had a baby looked more like a faerie out of a children's tale. Hope dozed lightly, her breath coming rapidly from the soft pink pout, her eyes moving erratically under lavender eyelids. The little naps she managed to scavenge between coughing bouts did nothing to ease her pain. She was alive, but only just so. Hope awoke then, fluttering her dark lashes, racked with coughs again. A nurse wiped her mouth, and to my extreme horror, there was a spot of scarlet blood on the tissue.

Lisa brought me lunch, and then dinner from the Lakeview Lodge. All of the Baker family watched Hope with me sadly. We all knew she would not last much longer. As I kept my solemn vigil, I could almost feel their sympathetic thoughts filling the room. _Poor Esme…Hope's dying…only lived a week…She wanted the baby so long and now…So unfair, the husband _**and**_ the child? This is going to destroy Esme…Hope's dying…_

It was well past midnight when Hope's sensor issued the final warning. Her lungs had clogged up with blood and mucus, and she was unable to breathe. There was a flurry of nurses, her box lost from our view, as they tried to help. Hope's claustrophobic room was big enough for only the doctor and a few nurses, so we were pushed out unceremoniously. I clenched my fists tightly. Lisa rubbed my hunched shoulders and my hands. I think I forgot to breathe.

By and by, the doctor came out of the room, closing the door behind him gently. Through the window, I could see the nurses still crowded around the box. The doctor studied his feet for a moment, but when he looked up, and I saw his face, _I knew_.

So soon.

The doctor's face blurred and swirled. I blinked furiously, clearing the tears, but fresh ones replaced them. They oozed out and trailed down my cheeks like thin, wet fingers, meeting at the point of my chin and splattering onto my lap, glistening pearls of saltiness. Time slowed palpably, voices becoming distorted rumbles as a stone hammer pounded away at my heart mercilessly, reducing it to pulp in seconds. All the while, from deep within my body, something surged up powerfully, something even stronger than myself. I was helpless under this power and I succumbed senselessly. Uncontainable, it poured out of my lips in the form of sound: a wild, animal wail of grief.

* * *

Hopefully, I've made you sad and depressed. Tell me what you think about this chapter & story. Also check out the pics I have up relating to this story.

**_CHAPTER 8: A CERTAIN_** DR. CARLISLE CULLEN_ **WILL BE MAKING AN APPEARANCE!!!**_

If you _really_ love me, read my other story Sweet Blood too!


	8. Family Outing

Oh baby, I'm back! I'm sorry if there are mistakes in this chapter but it's been a really tough couple of weeks for me (sigh).

But hey, at least you _do_ have a new chappie to read.

* * *

Ch. 8: Family Outing

Sam hopped out of his newly acquired Ford automobile and held his arms open in wonder. "Isn't this great?"

Melanie stepped out of the right side of the car and came to stand next to her husband. "Well, there are trees, and flowers, and more trees…" she said dully. Melanie was not very excited about this day trip ― she did not adore the great outdoors as much as Sam did. He knew that Melanie would rather be at home, perhaps enjoying a warm, afternoon tea with her neighbors. She was a city-gal, through and through.

"Oh come on, the good parts are _farther in_," Sam said. He had been here once before on a hunting trip last spring. Although the game had not been much, the natural beauty had left a deep imprint on his soul. Sam turned towards the familiar trail but stopped when he felt an insistent tug on his leg. Polly, his personal cherub, peered up at him with baleful eyes. 

"Daddy, I'm _tired_."

"But weren't you just napping in the car, sweetie?"

Melanie shot Sam an _I told you so_ glare._ "_Sam, Polly's just a baby! I think she's too young to really appreciate a nature hike. It's been a long day," Then her eyes lit up. "Maybe we should take them home now."

Davy puffed himself up indignantly. "Mom, _I'm_ not tired at all. It'll take more than that to bring me down." He was growing up, already nearly thirteen years old, turning into a man. 

"That's good, son," said Sam gratefully. "Darling, we drove more than an hour out of the way to get here! We can't just leave now. Let's go!" 

His wife pouted but followed him anyway, frowning in distaste as leafy foliage mussed her fine, blond hair. Underneath the canopy of ancient trees, barely any of the weak, afternoon sunlight filtered in, and it was dusky and quiet. Peacefully so. Sam looked over towards Melanie and saw that she looked happy, despite her obvious attempt of hiding it. She could be so stubborn at times, but that was part of why he loved her. He breathed in the earthy, pine needle fragrance gladly. Life in the city was chaotic, and he was thankful for this serene retreat.

They had not been walking long when the dark forest thinned and opened up to a wide stream. Multi-hued stones, smoothed and polished by the constant running water, lined the stream, like colorful eggs. At one side, copper colored rocks rose up sharply, with jagged edges. Scraggly baby trees clung to the sides, the vibrant green contrasting marvelously with the bronze rock. On the other side, the dark woods they had come out of stood tall and dark ― an emerald barrier.

"We're almost there. We just need to follow the water upstream," Sam said excitedly. He couldn't wait to show his family the magnificent copper falls. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the shimmering mists and the furious, churning water that lay at the end of the trail. There had been a spectacular feeling of power there, he remembered. He recalled the awe he'd felt that day. Sam was simply one person among a million, a tiny, insignificant being compared to the glorious cascading bronze.

"Good Lord…" Melanie gasped.

Sam shook himself out of his daydream at the sound of his wife's shaken voice. Melanie was gaping at something ahead of them, something pale and white in the afternoon shadows. What was it? He approached the pale thing cautiously. Ten feet away, Sam froze, as cold recognition crashed into him, the icy waves soaking through to his bones.

_It_ was a young woman.

He tried to speak, but found that he had no air in his lungs to do so. Sam took a deep, shuddering breath and tried again. "Mel-Melanie, d-don't come any closer."

He moved toward the woman now, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw the full extent of the damage. She was partly in, partly out of the water, like a beached whale. Her slender limbs sprawled out in unnatural postures. A ragged tip of bone jutted out of her right knee. Sam winced. Black bruises and pink cuts covered most of her pale, exposed skin. She was soaking wet, and her light brown hair was plastered to her face, concealing her features. There wasn't too much blood ― the water must have washed most of it away ― but she looked horribly lifeless. Was she…dead?

"Hey!" 

Sam tore his gaze away from the painful sight at his feet, and looked up. A somewhat rotund figure was running towards them from upstream, waving its arms wildly. As the figure came closer, he could see that it was a bearded man. He stopped beside Sam and rested with both hands on his knees, wheezing from the exertion.

"I just found her here, like this ― " The newcomer waved off Sam's words impatiently.

"Don't bother with an explanation," he puffed, "I saw what happened… How is she?" The man raised his thick eyebrows at Sam expectantly, still breathing unevenly.

"I-I don't know, I just got here…"

"Well check her pulse!"

Sam knelt down next to the woman and took her wrist gently. He gasped.

"What?"

Sam shook his head slightly. "Her skin's icy…but…I think I can feel a pulse," he looked up uncertainly, "A weak one."

The bearded man sighed deeply, and knelt as well. "We need to hurry. The nearest town is an hour away." He eased his arms beneath the woman's crooked legs and her upper back slowly, trying not to jar the broken bones.

"What happened to her?" Sam asked quietly.

The man grimaced. "I hiked to the end of this trail ― the waterfall," Sam nodded. "I was resting, just sitting and listening to the birds, the water…And then I saw her. She was standing at the edge of the opposite cliff above me…" his face took on a gloomy air, "I shouted, as loud as my natural voice would allow, but she couldn't hear me above the roar of the waterfall, and she _jumped_…"

"Suicide," said Sam, grimly.

He nodded. "I was running along the side of the river, looking for her body, when I saw you here. Do you have a car? I came on horseback, since I live in these woods."

"Yes I do."

"Do you know the way?"

"I've got a map in the car."

"What's going on?" Melanie asked. Sam looked behind him. Danny was with Polly, a safe fifteen feet away. It would not do for Sam's four-year-old daughter to see the broken young woman.

Sam took one of Melanie's hands. "Honey, she's alive, and we need to get her medical attention." He leaned in and whispered softly, "It was a suicide attempt." She exhaled sharply.

"What about the children?" Her blue eyes darted back towards their children ― Danny was now restraining a frustrated Polly. The toddler pushed at her big brother with her plump little fists, but Danny held onto her grimly. 

Sam nodded in approval. "Danny is mature enough to handle this. You and Polly can sit in the front, and I'll talk to Danny about sitting in the back seat with the woman." He looked towards the hiker. "This is Mr.…uh ―"

"I'm Henry."

"I'm Sam, this is my wife, Melanie, and my children over there ―" he nodded towards the other side of the stream, "Danny and Polly."

They went quickly through the rest of the hike back in silence. Sam felt like the beauty of that afternoon had been shattered by this unfortunate event. It was supposed to be a nice, family daytrip ― one of those beautiful things that came very rarely for city-people like Sam. Now, the fate of the woman rested entirely in their hands, and if she died…

He and Henry alternated carrying the young woman. She never stirred, remaining limp and cold during the whole hike, and her lips took on a corpse-like bluish tinge. As if…as if she were dead. So much so, that Sam cringed from checking her pulse a second time. 

By the time they had gotten to the beginning of the trail, the sun was just touching the edge of the horizon and everything was now bathed in a thick, pumpkin orange. Sam gently lowered the young woman into the backseat of his Ford. Her head lolled about and left a wet smear over his leather seats. Thick, moist eyelashes stroked the top of her pronounced cheekbones. He supposed that she might have been pretty ― if not for those numerous pink cuts that crisscrossed her skin, and those purplish bruises that discolored her complexion. She just looked so young, and so innocent. Too young to die like this.

"Thank you for the help."

"You too, sir, goodbye." Henry's broad-shouldered back disappeared under the dark cover of the forest as he left.

Danny hopped into the car and scooted to the far side of the back seat opposite the woman. Melanie stepped into the passenger seat in the front, holding Polly protectively as she squirmed around, trying to sneak a peek of the mysterious woman. Lastly, Sam sat down next to his wife, and leaned down, his hand riffling through random pieces of junk on the floor of the car. When he resurfaced, he had a map in hand, and he gripped the steering wheel firmly with the other. It was the only thing that felt real.

_- - -Earlier the same day- - -_

It was so quiet.

I slowly opened my eyes. Blinked. There was no moon tonight. I looked to the window; a velvety darkness covered the sky, studded with twinkling jewels. No wonder it was so silent — I was up so early that even the Bakers weren't awake yet.

I had had a miserable nightmare, but I couldn't remember what it was about ― I only knew that it had been a miserable dream. Now wide-awake, I felt dismal and depressed, thanks to the nightmare.

I counted sheep. I stared at the shining stars and tried to remember some of the constellations I had learned a long time ago back on the farm in Columbus. I tried to empty my mind of everything so that I could go to the dark forgetfulness of sleep. But I couldn't bear to hum the old family lullaby ― it was a memory too painful bring up.

Eventually, the darkness of the room faded into a twilight blue and I was able to make out the leafy tops of trees and the rippling waters of Lake Superior. It was the start of another day. Another one of those uneventful, drawn-out spans of wakefulness.

When the morning sun finally crawled into full view, tip-toeing along the edge of the treetops, I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed. Every night, I cracked apart, and as a result, I had to gather myself together every morning, like the scattered pieces of a broken china plate. I went through the daily morning ritual: glue myself together, wash, dress, head out of the room and downstairs for breakfast.

Something smelled nice. Lisa's cooking, of course. I took my usual seat at the table and prodded the food with my fork. It was soft, yielding easily to the steel tines of my silverware. I couldn't focus hard enough to fully recognize what it was. But I tore out a bit of the spongy stuff, speared it, and put it in my mouth. Chewed and swallowed. Although the flavor couldn't seep through the fuzzy cover on my tongue, it was somewhat good, and I skewered some more with my fork.

"Good morning, Esme," Thomas said brightly.

I nodded at him. I wished I could greet him properly, but the muscles at the corners of my mouth were rusty from lack of use, and besides, my mouth was full. 

The Bakers and the other customers continued to talk and eat with false cheer, occasionally trying to include me in the conversation. It was like this every day, every meal. I was obviously bringing down the mood of the morning atmosphere simply by being there. I ate quickly and went to the kitchen to wash my plates, not wanting to affect the happy family in the dining room. It was the nice thing to do, to relieve them of my bad company. When I finished washing, I retreated to my room and sat on the bed.

"Esme, it's time to go to church." Lisa's head emerged from a small crack behind the door expectantly.

"Not today."

Her face fell, and Lisa drew back, closing the door behind her quietly. I fell back onto the bed and closed my eyes. Through the window, I heard the sound of carriage and car doors slamming shut, and the sound of horses' hooves clip-clopping farther and farther away as they all left, leaving me alone in the empty house.

I felt strange today. Some kind of restlessness. My daily existence has been like this for…for…I-don't-know-how-long now. I don't teach. I don't knit or sew. I don't go to church anymore. I endure each day doing the bare necessities of survival. I wake up, eat, clean, and muse over my life, bringing up dizzying nostalgia every time. Then the nightmares come for me after the sun disappears over the hill, and I awake again in the morning, sometimes gasping for air as if I'd almost drowned in sleep. But I never remember my dreams, and they remain as unsolved puzzles rotting away.

I find that there isn't really any meaning in life anymore. It's just all…the same. I'm in a cocoon of numbness and the world seems so dull from inside. Food has lost its taste. Colors have faded to an unchanging gray. I don't seem to hear as well as before ― I do not even remember the last time I have heard music…

- - -_Sam_- - -

Sam pulled into the Ashland hospital's parking lot. It was a tiny brick building in the center of town. Even at nighttime, the plain hospital stood out from the painted blue and white ones in its neighborhood. Sam was glad it had been so easy finding it ― after all, he _did_ have a dying (probably dead by now) woman in his car.

Once he'd parked, Sam got out and ducked into the back seat, reappearing with a soaking wet young woman in his arms. Polly was asleep in her mother's warm embrace, and Danny was staring at the woman. 

"I think she's croaked, Dad," he said.

"_I'll be back in a few minutes_," he said, shooting his son an annoyed glare.

Sam rushed through the heavy double doors into the hospital. Dim lights lit up the small waiting room, giving everything an unhealthy, sallow tinge. "Help! Somebody help!" 

The nurse behind the front desk leapt up out of her chair hurriedly. "Oh my," she murmured, taking in the sight of the bedraggled woman. "Dr. Cullen!" she called out loudly. Then she turned towards the hallway that led into the building. "Please follow me, sir."

Sam concentrated on not slipping on the slippery linoleum floor as he followed the nurse, who seemed to glide effortlessly ahead of him. (She was wearing three-inch heels!) They pushed through another set of double doors and were met by a grim-faced young man. Sam gasped as he saw the doctor ― he was young, very young ― too absurdly young to already be well versed in medicine. Why, he couldn't have more than 25 years under his belt! Sam settled the woman on the clean, white, hospital cot nearest to him and retreated into a corner. 

"Sir, what happened to her?" The doctor's face was a mask of shock. It was obvious that he truly cared about his patients. Most people would only grimace in distaste at the woman's piteous appearance.

"Well, " Sam fidgeted uncomfortably, "She…fell…off a cliff ―"

Dr. Cullen's eyes bulged furiously. "You let her get that close to the edge? Why, you…"

"No, no, I wasn't _with_ her when it happened!" Sam protested quickly, "I just found her washed up by the stream. There was another hiker who'd seen her throw herself off the cliff ― and that's all ― I swear!"

The doctor seemed to deflate slightly when Sam told him about her suicide attempt. "Then…thank you for bringing her in," he said hoarsely, "But, there's nothing I can do for her." Sam's heart dropped heavily to somewhere below his navel. _So he had failed_. Dr. Cullen looked away dejectedly and delicately placed a sheet over the woman. 

"Oh," Sam said stupidly. And then, because it felt right, "I'm sorry."

Dr. Cullen just nodded, his golden waves bouncing a little. The nurse gave Sam a quick sympathetic look and went over to the doctor to pat his arm. "Dr. Cullen, I'll do her papers and take her to the morgue."

He looked up, and the look of intense pain on his face took Sam off-guard. "No, I'll do that, Annie. I can go right now." He abruptly turned, picked up his briefcase, and wheeled the hospital cot out the door. The double doors bounced back and forth in his wake.

The nurse, Annie, was the one to break the silence. "Don't take it personally," she said, shrugging, "He just takes it really hard whenever any of his patients…um…kick the bucket." She sighed. "And she's only the second. The other one was already almost 82 years old."

"That makes me feel oh-so-much better," he muttered.

"Fine, be like that if you want, but it wasn't your fault. Who told her to go jump off a cliff anyhow?" she demanded. "Good night, now, and drive safely."

Sam just grunted miserably. He dreaded breaking the terrible news to his family.

* * *

This was _really_ difficult to write. I had to play around with lots of different POV's and plots and whatnot to get to this. As you've noticed, the beginning and endings are in 3rd person with the one-time character, Sam, and the middle is a very numb Esme.

Reviews are very much appreciated as they will atone for my fast worsening eyesight (from staring at the computer everyday).

Sometimes I get soooooooo depressed just thinking about my eyes...God, I'm way too young to go blind! Of course, I blame my parents first and foremost, they've both got terrible eyes too. Anyway...


	9. Dreaming

AN: 'Kay, this chapter is back to the regular Esme's POV.

PLEASE read the poem. It's about the last moment of human Esme's life...it should explain some of chapter 8. I actually wrote it for Lit. class :) I'm not usually a poet but I like this poem. It fits the story and it's probably the most original part of this chapter since the rest is too obvious.

I've also signed up for beta-work. SO if anyone thinks I can be a good beta...

* * *

Chapter 9: Dreaming

_Spirited winds whip her silky hair into impossible tangles, _

_Tendrils of palpable force curling around her ankles, _

_Rippling the light sundress she wears._

_A trace of weightless, earthy vapor touches her uplifted face, _

_The golden mist flowing upwards to the high cliffs her toes cling to. _

_A bittersweet smile graces her delicate features,_

_And for the first time in days-months-years, she feels free._

_But beneath her trembling figure,_

_Lies the fury of Mother Nature,_

_A looming abyss of icy waters,_

_Churning, roiling, writhing with a wild passion._

_The coppery rock the girl stands upon is slippery with moisture._

_Like quicksand, the soil loosens and melts away…_

_The rock wobbles on the edge for a moment ― unsure, undecided ―_

_And then it falls._

_She travels through a shimmering haze, the spray drenching her caramel hair._

_Dense mists slow her descent,_

_And it's almost as if she is a drifting feather,_

_Floating aimlessly through a bronze cloud._

_- - -_

Pain.

I was used to pain. My earliest memories of it included Father and Mother. Harsh words. Father brandishing a supple switch across my palms. A slap across the face for spilling milk over Mother's homemade quilt. Breaking my leg as a teenage girl on the farm. Crushed hopes and dreams. Later, the horrible first night of my marriage to Charles Evenson. I can still feel the scars from his leather belt across my legs and back.

My poor, sweet baby. Cold, stiff, a fragile bundle of my own flesh and blood.

Dead.

And the exhilarating rush off the top of a cliff. The fall through thin air, sweet and gratifying, after the days of deadening nothingness. After that, the last thing I remember is seeing a bone protruding from the skin of my knee.

Pain has been my constant companion throughout the years.

This was different…and terrible.

Something sharp and cold slashed at my neck, wrists, and ankles, startling me. It was very cold, so ice-cold it burned, and pulled me into awareness. The burning started out like the glowing embers of a fire inserted under my skin. It tingled and throbbed, heightening the original pain from the fall. I stirred, and a stabbing pain shot up my leg, making me hiss in pain. I wanted to scratch them out, the stinging, burning parts. It became much worse soon after that.

The smoldering flames flared into all-out torture. The blaze seeped through my bones to the marrow. It was a cutting, blazing, scream-inducing agony. In all my life, I had never imagined Hell could be anywhere close to as painful as this was.

And then I heard the voice of an angel. It was the voice that I hadn't forgotten in a decade. The most beautiful sound in the world, a melody that filled my spirit with hope.

Carlisle.

A cool, sweet breath caressed my face. "Esme." _My name_. The pain was forgotten, if only for a moment, as _my name_ slipped out of his lips. The way he said _my name_ made it sound like the brand of an exotic silk.

What was he doing here? Why was he here, with _me_, in the fiery inferno that was eternal Hell? I didn't want Dr. Carlisle Cullen to see me in the depths of my humiliation. What must he think of me now? The last time he'd seen me was ten years ago, when I was sixteen ― frivolous, hopeful, and naive.

My unreliably damaged brain must have fabricated the whole thing.

And then the fire intensified and made it impossible to understand anything. I wanted to listen to that voice again, but it quickly distorted into an incoherent rumble. I writhed and twisted, trying to claw myself out of the cocoon I was trapped in. I knew that by the time the fire was done with me, I would be a pile of smoking ash.

Yet…this could not really be Hell. The firm softness I lay upon, the splintering agony flowing in my veins, the soft, indiscernible voices that broke through the thick haze from time to time ― it all felt too concrete to be a dream…but at the same time, too surreal to be earthly. Whatever the circumstances, I had been thwarted of the solitary death I'd aimed for. What was happening to me? This was a thousand times worse than any pain I had encountered before.

- - -

When would it ever end? An unknown power kept me conscious and detained me from the relief of death. The flames never relented their hold on me and I despaired of any break from the pain. I screamed out to the world for mercy, death, oblivion, although none was forthcoming. I thrashed about, like a demon possessed, and the sheets I lay upon ripped and disintegrated in my hands. How could they be so cruel as to watch while I burned under all this suffering?

Periodically, I caught a few words from the voices around me.

"…So sorry."

"…changing…"

"Esme…"

"I'm sorry for…"

"…end soon."

"I promise."

But nothing I heard made sense. I couldn't concentrate on the words long enough to gather anything useful before the pain rendered my mind incapable of rational thought again.

- - -

I felt like I was getting stronger ― I was able to understand more and more of the conversation around me ― and maybe, just maybe, that meant that the pain was fading away!

But I didn't want to get my hopes up. That I didn't feel as much fire in my fingertips and toes could also mean that they were burned to such an extent that the delicate nerves were damaged beyond function.

Then I realized that someone was rubbing soothing circles across the back of my hand.

I opened my eyes carefully, bracing myself for the inevitable explosion of pain that accompanied movement, and was shocked to find that other than a spicy tingling, it did not hurt.

And I was equally shocked to see the flawless face of my former doctor peering at me intently.

"Carlisle?" I rasped. Immediately, I regretted speaking, for it set anew the rescinding fire in my throat.

The ten, long years had done nothing to his vivid beauty. More likely than not, the time had, in fact, increased it. Carlisle's eyes were as intensely gold as I remembered, and I found myself mesmerized under his gaze. Abruptly, his gentle mouth flashed into an enthusiastic smile, and the agony was forgotten again.

"She spoke to you?" I remembered this voice from the previous days. A teenaged boy appeared in my line of vision to stand just behind Carlisle. Brownish-red hair flopped into his light-colored eyes untidily, grazing his high cheekbones. The two looked somewhat alike ― both beautiful, both pale, with shadowed, honey eyes. He watched me curiously.

"Just my name. I can't believe she still remembers me." Carlisle's voice, colored with wonder, was pure music. "Esme," he breathed. His distinctive scent swirled around my face; he smelled even better than I remembered. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

I shook my head. I didn't want to incite more pain, as much as I wanted to talk to Carlisle.

"She's still hurting a lot. Her throat burns too much." The boy understood my pain.

Carlisle nodded. "I'll be right here for you, okay? It will be over soon — a few more hours at the most — I promise."

I nodded weakly, an almost imperceptible movement, but he smiled kindly at me and continued to hold my hand. I feasted my eyes on the angel before me. Had Carlisle been here the whole time? I couldn't remember. It was too good to be true.

"She thinks she's dreaming." The boy said casually.

Carlisle sighed and rolled his eyes. "Esme, this nuisance is Edward. He's my…son…I guess you could say that. Well, he's not actually my son but we'll just leave it at that for now." He added quickly, seeing my look of disbelief.

I closed my eyes. "Er…Do you want me to explain everything to you now? Or do you want to rest?" He asked uncertainly.

My eyes snapped open. Of course! I nodded.

Carlisle looked very grim. His voice took on a more serious tone. "You're changing. Your body is going through a…healing process. When the process ends, you will be an entirely different person, Esme. You need to be prepared for that. Do you understand?"

I had anticipated this speech. I knew that I would unavoidably be scarred and misshapen after all I've been through (had the burns obscured the scars I'd accumulated from Charles' abuse?). My skin would be burnt beyond recognition ― possibly discolored as well. I winced at the brief vision of myself limping along with a shorter right leg. Maybe my broken bones hadn't set right either. I nodded at Carlisle to go on.

Then he began to talk. Really talk. I remained silent while he explained everything. Carlisle told me about what I would become. My previous fears of scars and deformation were utterly eclipsed when he first mentioned the word: vampire. I was dying, dead…but not completely so…I would have the rest of eternity to live _un_dead. I would need to drink the blood of others to survive. Carlisle apologized profusely for changing me, his kind eyes and the compassionate set of his mouth showing me how much he really cared.

"When I saw you, broken as you were that night, I remembered your face. Ten years ago, you were a happy girl. Whole, innocent to the world. I couldn't let you go, as selfish as it was," he apologized softly, his remorseful golden eyes pleading for forgiveness.

I struggled for words, having just realized a crucial matter. "And, three days ago, you _bit_ me?" I asked, incredulous.

Carlisle blinked several times ― surprised, and just a tad uncomfortable. "Well, yes, that's how it works. It's one of the few factors that are actually true about our kind."

I eventually decided it didn't really matter. Carlisle, my savior, was a vampire, so it couldn't be too bad. And there was also the option of going "vegetarian" ― feeding on animals instead of humans. He told me that it could take years to get my new vampire instincts in control, but that it was possible. If both Carlisle and Edward could do it, I could do it as well.

There _were _perks. The transformation had changed me inside and out. I would be virtually indestructible by human standards, my body being as hard as diamonds. Sunlight, crucifixes, holy water, garlic ― all myth. Carlisle fully slashed those beliefs, assuring me that I had almost nothing to fear as one of them. He also said that I would be enhanced in every way: agility, hearing, taste, sound, scent, even beauty. Edward got a little excited when Carlisle mentioned the speed ("It's a thousand times better than an airplane ride!").

And then there was the superhuman strength. Hmm. I had a hard time believing that. I had been raised up on a farm, but I'd never really done any back-breaking work. I mostly stayed indoors with my mother and ran errands. I could possibly be the first vampire to have only the average human's strength.

As if he'd been reading my mind, Edward sauntered to the door. "Look at this," he said ominously. He tilted the large trash bin so that I could see its contents.

"What is it?" I asked, perplexed. Irregular clumps of white fluff infused with scraps of beige fabric filled the container. As I stared at it, realization dawned on me. "Is it ― "

"It was once a very thick, very cozy blanket ― yes," he smirked.

I clapped a hand to my mouth in shock. "I'm sorry! I didn't realize…"

"Don't worry about it, Esme," said Carlisle. "And enough of that, Edward," he added crisply. Edward scowled and disappeared with the trash bin.

"You can clean up in the bathroom. There is a change of clothes in the cabinet. And remember, use as little pressure as possible when you touch things ― the power can be difficult to get used to. " With that, Carlisle smiled seraphically (I stared back in awe) and left the room.

For the first time since I'd opened my eyes, I took in my surroundings. Moonlight washed in through several floor-length windows along the wall behind me. I'd never seen moonlight so pure and bright before. The wide room was furnished simply, but with good taste. There was a large fireplace directly in front of me, at the foot of the queen-sized bed. A sturdy, mahogany desk stood to the left of the bed. It was dusty. This was probably their unused guest room.

Gingerly, I placed my bare feet on the polished wood floors. There was no more pain, although every inch of my body tingled in a delicious, potent way. Dream-like, I floated to the door with surprising speed. I closed the bathroom door quietly behind me and gently twisted the knob above the water faucet with the lightest pressure, keeping in mind Carlisle's words about my new strength. I didn't feel the metal rotating underneath my fingers, but a flood of water gushed forcefully out of the faucet.

Then, I undressed in front of the mirror.

A surprise. My eyes were a sinister, lustrous red. They stood out from the rest of my features ― beautiful, fascinating, and dangerous. I quickly dismissed it, remembering what Carlisle had said about the unsettling color. Only one year of this, I told myself.

My skin glowed silver, illuminated under the pale, wonderful light of the full moon. It was flawless and perfect. As beautiful as a newborn's. I ran slender, white fingers along my legs and back, feeling a faint sense of pleasure as they glided across only smooth skin. There were no telltale bumps of scar tissue. Not even their ghosts remained. Erased.

I grinned and my perfect teeth (no fangs) glinted wickedly in the mirror.

Reborn.

* * *

AN: I know you've probably read a gazillion vampire transformation stories so I hope this one wasn't too cliché. Until next time...Please give me feedback (especially about my poem)!


End file.
